#(i never finish starter calls this is a miracle by everything)

[wolfeign]

i technically finished the starter call, two of u snuck in late & i love u both i will do them. but i just want it to be known that i technically finished it - like i technically did them all

[lcvernat]

Pregnancy Problems | Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Request: Can I request a pregnant!Natasha x female!reader (maybe in a modern au) and Nat is having back and feet pains from walking around all day and cause reader is still at work, the red head can’t get one of her wive’s famous comforting massages. And by the time reader does get home, she’s tired and wants to sleep which makes Nat feel very emotional almost wanting to cry because she was looking forward to the massages. Reader immediately catches on and gives the relief her heavily pregnant wife DEFINITELY deserves!

Word Count: 850

Content Warnings: fem!reader, fluff, pregnancy

A/N: thank you for the request! here it is, i hope you enjoy it anon! it's quite short and sweet, but i hope you still like it. this was so cute to write and soft natasha is the best natasha argue with the wall if you disagree.

Natasha was grumpy. For starters, there was no pickles left in the house to stave off her pregnancy cravings, so she had to waddle like an idiot to the nearest shop to buy a bunch of pickles, and then waddle back carrying said bag of pickles. Her feet were swollen and aching, and she couldn't even reach down to massage them because her 8 month pregnant belly was in the way. Her back currently felt as if someone had ran her over with a truck with absolutely zero remorse and her hormones were making her mood swings go haywire. To make matters even worse, her beautiful wife was at work and couldn't give Natasha the relief she so desperately craved via one of her miracle massages.

So, she was not in a good mood. At all. At this point, she couldn't wait for the mini Romanoff in her belly to come so her back wasn't constantly aching. She loved her unborn baby girl with everything in her, and she couldn't wait to finally hold her in her arms - she did not like pregnancy though, at all. She was never doing this again.

The redhead glanced at the time: 8:47pm. You finished work at 9, so at least it wouldn't be that long until you returned home and she could be comforted by your warm embrace and, hopefully, a massage. Natasha was sat on the couch, watching one of your favorite movies because she missed you so much, and munching on the pickles she had bought earlier today (this was her second jar, but she convinced herself it was fine because she is very heavily pregnant and deserves it).

It wasn't long after that the sound of the door unlocking caught her attention, and your voice reached her ears, "Natty, I'm home!"

"Hi detka!" Natasha called back to you seconds before you stepped into the living room.

You smiled at the sight of your wife, walking over to place a kiss on her forehead, "Hey angel, how have you been today? Has little Romanoff been good?"

Natasha tilted her head back to capture your lips in a kiss before responding, "She's been a nuisance, she's been kicking the life out of me and my back and feet are aching." She glanced at you, trying to hint that she wanted a massage. Unfortunately, you did not catch on as you merely shook your head in amusement.

You bent down to talk to Nat's belly, "You're a real troublemaker, aren't you? I know you're excited to come out and we are unbelievably excited to finally meet you, so don't be giving mama a hard time!" As if sensing your presence, the baby kicked again and you laughed before rubbing Nat's belly.

You straightened up again, "Alright baby, I'm really tired so I'm going to head to sleep. You coming or do you want to finish watching your movie?"

You weren't expecting your wife's eyes to fill up with tears at your simple question. You panicked, sitting down beside her and immediately pulling her close to you, being careful not to get her belly in the way. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"My b-back," Her lip quivered as she spoke.

You immediately caught on, "Oh, baby, you want a massage?" A nod, accompanied by a sniffle. "Why didn't you just say so? Of course I'll give you one, let's go to our room so you can lie on the bed and get comfy."

You turned the TV off and put the pickles back in the kitchen before helping Nat up, supporting her as you both made your way to your shared room. She lay down sideways on your bed and you made sure she was comfortable before you started to massage her back. She moaned in relief once you started, and you knew that she had been waiting for this all day.

When you had finished, you noticed she was already half asleep, "Hey, baby," you whispered, not wanting to startle her, "do you want to take a bath? I could set a really relaxing one up for you if you want."

She shook her head, mumbling, "Jus' wanna sleep. 'm comfy."

You kissed her cheek, "That's alright angel, I'm just going to take a shower because I stink and then I'll join you, alright?"

She merely nodded, her mind already being swept away to dreamland.

When you returned from your shower, your wife was already sound asleep in bed. You knew that was probably the best sleep she had gotten in a while, since the pregnancy really had not been easy on her, but she was a trooper and pushed through it. You couldn't be more grateful for your gorgeous wife.

You got into bed beside her, Natasha shifting slightly as the tips of your still slightly wet hair grazed her cheek when you leaned over to give her a goodnight kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight baby," you whispered before wrapping your arms around her, being mindful of her belly. Even asleep, she snuggled into you, your eyes closing too as you too were swept off into dreamland.

[drowningbydegrees]

This is distinctly less fluffy than most of what I’ve been writing lately, but... it ends well? For the Music Prompt List:

16. Mosso (Italian: moved, agitated) more, with motion or animation~fighting, leaving

Read on AO3

He has a plan.

Okay, admittedly calling it a plan is somewhat of an exaggeration. What Geralt has is an overwhelming sense of grief that floods the empty spaces left behind as his temper ebbs, and the horrifying realization that while it all hurts, it’s Jaskier’s departure that leaves his heart aching. What he has is an urgent need to set things right, and only a nebulous idea of how to do so. For starters though, he needs to catch up to Jaskier. That’s a straightforward task to set his mind to, and Geralt assumes he’ll figure out the rest on the road.

It should be a reasonable assumption to make. It’s a long path down the mountain, and even though he’s moving briskly, trying to catch Jaskier before the bard reaches the bottom, there’s plenty of time to think.

Plenty of time is not enough, apparently, because he finds Jaskier just after dark, sitting miserably in front of a campfire, and… nothing. He stares at the evidence of what a mess he’s made without a single useful thought in his head.

The bard had been idly strumming some song Geralt thinks he’s heard bits and pieces of, but it cuts off in a discordant twang as Jaskier sees him. There’s a distinctly bitter edge to Jaskier’s greeting. “Geralt. Kind of hard for life to bless you with my absence if you’re going to insist on following me.”

“There’s only one way down the mountain,” Geralt points out, even though that has nothing to do with why he stopped. It’s a mistake judging from the stormy expression that settles upon Jaskier’s features.

“Well, no need to stop on my account.” Jaskier doesn’t look at him, but Geralt can hear the slight waver in the bard’s voice. He could go. Jaskier seems to want that, and maybe he even should. But Geralt finds himself quite certain that if he leaves there will be no repairing this, and he has to try.

He doesn’t ask, certain what the answer will be, but Geralt strays from the road, leaving no more room for ambiguity. The words might have come out wrong, but he’s here because he wants to make amends, not because he saw Jaskier in passing. The bard values words in a way Geralt rarely has much use for, but he tries. “What I said… wasn’t fair.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Jaskier scowls at the fire as if it has personally offended him. “But good to know what you really think. You might’ve just told me that, oh, a couple of decades ago and saved us both from this.”

“That’s not-” Geralt doesn’t know how to finish and Jaskier never gives him the chance to decide.

“Not what, Geralt? Because so help me, if you tell me that’s not what you meant I might scream.” Jaskier gets to his feet, seeming to decide being loomed over is an unacceptable state of being.

“I don’t think that. I meant it at the time, a bit, but not… It wasn’t true,” Geralt settles on. “I just wanted to be alone.”

“Right. So, what then? You know what things flay me right down to my bones because I’ve trusted you with my everything. But you fashioned them into a weapon just because my existence was inconvenient to your… your brooding.” Anger is a feeling Geralt recognizes, one he knows how to rise up to meet. But this isn’t anger. There’s agony under all Jaskier’s fury, and Geralt would be hard pressed to think of a time he’s hated himself more than he does in the moment where Jaskier’s voice cracks. “You don’t get to just change your mind and pretend we’re good as new.”

Geralt bows his head “I know that.”

Jaskier holds his lute like a wall between them. “And yet, here you are.”

It’s rare that they’ve ever really argued beyond annoyed squabbling, but Jaskier is no shrinking violet. Geralt doesn’t know what to do in the face of it that won’t make things worse, so he holds his hands up in something like surrender. “Jaskier. Give me a chance to explain. Please.”

By some miracle, Jaskier doesn’t say no. The bard glowers at him, his eyes seeming icy in the moonlight. It’s an unsettling contrast to the fire’s glow across the rest of him. “That might be the first time you’ve said that in twenty years.”

Much as he hates to admit it, that’s probably not far off the mark, and Geralt privately resolves to be better if Jaskier deigns to give him the chance. But later is not right now, and Jaskier looks about two heartbeats away from turning Geralt back out into the dark.

“Jaskier, I…” Geralt sucks in a breath and tries again. “It wasn’t about you.”

“I know.” It’s awful, the way Jaskier smiles. The brittle, mirthless thing pulls at the corners of his mouth, never reaching his eyes. “I know and that’s so much worse. Don’t you realize?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything, but his expression must give away his confusion, because Jaskier sighs at him and keeps talking. “If you'd run me off on my own merits, I'd deserve that. Well, not deserve it necessarily, because that was entirely uncalled for, but it would be... something.”

There’s some kind of disconnect, and Geralt is relatively sure Jaskier isn’t talking about his choice of words, but he’s equally sure he has no idea what Jaskier actually means. “You want me to have been upset with you?”

“No! I just wanted to matter!” Jaskier shouts at Geralt, but almost immediately deflates, huffing out a miserable, strained laugh. “I just wanted to be something more to you than the collateral damage in someone else's storm.”

Emotion would have Geralt shouting right back, but he quells the urge. He owes Jaskier that much. Only when Jaskier is finished, drawing in ragged breaths does Geralt allow himself to speak. “But you do. You are.”

Jaskier makes a wounded sort of sound and crumples a little where he stands, all the fight gone out of him with his last outburst. The way he lets his head fall forward, Geralt can’t see Jaskier’s expression, but the bard’s words are laced with anguish. “You can’t just say that. You don’t get to do that to me now.”

It comes together, a single rock dislodged only to bring a landslide. Decades, Jaskier has spent at his side, and it’s only now that the why of it all settles in. He’s been so blind and with no way to take it back, there is only forward.

Words aren’t enough. That much is clear, even if it leaves Geralt at a loss. The coast? They should have just gone, but he’d been a fool and it’s entirely out of reach now. Start smaller, he tells himself, and cautiously takes a step closer. Hushed, like Jaskier is a wild thing he’s trying not to spook, Geralt pulls together what he thinks he probably should’ve said from the beginning. “What I said before wasn’t about you, but this is.”

“What?” Jaskier’s head jerks up, but the bard looks like he’s bracing himself for a blow.

“I came here for you. Not a side effect of something or someone else. Just you.” Geralt lifts a hand to reach out, but never actually closes the distance. Jaskier is nothing if not tactile and Geralt had thought… but he has no right. Not when he’s driven such a wedge between them. Curling his fingers against his palm, the witcher forces himself to finish the thought. “I never meant to make you feel incidental.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt with something he can’t quite place, and he doesn’t dare ask for fear of shattering their fragile armistice. The seconds spread out into what feels like eternity, horrible in their silence. Geralt scarcely breathes.

”I really hate you sometimes.” Jaskier sighs like the whole world is resting on his shoulders, but he sets his lute aside in favor of dragging Geralt into a haphazard embrace. “For fuck’s sake.”

It’s really more like Jaskier drags himself to Geralt, who is pretty certain he hasn’t moved at all. Some part of him had been so certain Jaskier was going to turn him away that it takes a moment to parse what it means that the bard’s arms are wrapped around him instead. Little by little, Geralt returns the gesture, gingerly resting one hand between Jaskier’s shoulder blades and the other against the back of the bard’s head. Jaskier tucks his nose against the side of the witcher’s neck, and it’s not an intimacy he’s eared, but Geralt quietly accepts it.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmurs against Jaskier’s temple, and truly, he is. He closes his eyes against the night that crowds in around them. “Forgive me.”

“Idiot. Did that before I even left,” Jaskier replies, the words muffled against Geralt’s throat. “Forgiveness was never the problem.”

That only makes the whole thing ache more, that Jaskier was ready to forgive before Geralt even thought to regret what he’d done. It leaves him more than a little unmoored, unable to fathom how Jaskier can so easily let go after Geralt wounded him with his own insecurities. But perhaps that could mend in time. “Then let me prove it.”

“That you’re sorry?” Jaskier lifts his head enough to rest his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. “I don’t doubt that.”

“That you matter to me.” It’s not the confession Jaskier deserves, but it’s the only one Geralt dares give voice to. He fears even that is a step too far when Jaskier’s breath catches. Unable to see his face, Geralt can’t quite tell if that’s a pleased sound or an aggrieved one.

Jaskier doesn’t pull entirely out of Geralt’s arms, but enough to give the witcher a watery smile. “Well, I guess if you must.”

They’re not quite alright. But as Geralt lets himself be herded to sit down beside the dwindling fire, he allows himself to entertain the notion that they will be.

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

[grogunotfound]

PART ONE OF THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER SERIES

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ╾ dream smp x fem!reader au

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ╾ in a realm where a dragon threatens the inhabitants of a nearby kingdom, a mermaid makes a deal to trade her voice for a pair of human legs in order to save the people who saved her.

𝐚/𝐧 ╾ i am so excited for this series!! like the new layout? ((:

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The thunderous roars of the waves startled you. It was all you could hear; everything surrounding you was pitch black. You couldn’t tell where you were, but a voice in the back of your mind told you to calm down. So, you listened. You weren’t sure why you trusted this consciousness, but it was convincing enough to motivate you to take deep breaths. Slowly, the world replaced the darkness in front of you, loading itself into the emptiness to help you find your grounding.

You were on a grassy field that subtly rolled into a beach. Just beyond the sand was the source of sound that awoke you; it seemed less upset than what it sounded like. The ocean receded as multiple waves started tumbling upon itself—the roughness came in every so often, bringing in gifts of kelp to decorate the sand. You felt at peace being near the water. The grass was warm underneath the palm of your hands, which was also paired with the sun shining down on you.

You must find shelter, your inner voice reminded you. You took in one last deep breath of the salty air and stood up, your body silently thanking you as you stretched out your limbs. You turned away from the soothing scenery to find a place to settle down when night crawls in.

You gathered materials from the environment around you, trying your best not to disrupt the landscape of it all. You found enough items to start building your starter house—which wouldn’t be much but it’s okay. You wanted to explore before settling into a forever home. The current location was nice and all, but you wanted to find something even better. Plus, you needed to locate the nearest town to buy supplies for your neverending adventure in life.

Night took over quickly, which meant you either slept in late or that each day was a few minutes long. You were terrified but couldn’t find enough wool to make a comfortable bed, so you just lay on the dirt floor. Groans and hisses encompassed your temporary sanctuary, sending you chills when something thudded against the door.

Sunlight rescued you by peaking through the cracks in the door. You groggily rubbed your eyes, finding it impossible to rest when death knocked at your door multiple times last night. Nevertheless, you got yourself up to venture through another day. Food, you reminded yourself. Your stomach agreed in response, so you set out to find something to snack on.

You walked for so long that when it came to sunset, you still couldn’t find anything edible. There were so many things that heavily irritated your nose, it was difficult judging on if it would kill you or not. So, you decided not to risk it and continue walking until you found shelter for the upcoming nightfall.

The odds seemed to be in favor when you came across a wooden structure. Someone was standing outside, tending to the garden in front of the cozy building. They hadn’t seen you yet, so you called out to them, “pardon me?”

The figure turned around quickly, clearly frightened, “Please, I don’t have anything!”

You took a hesitant step back, “I’m not here to take anything. Would you happen to have any spare room that I can rest in for the night? I promise to leave in the morning.”

“Oh, you’re a traveler. Yes, yes! You may stay in my cottage for the night. My name is Bad,” they introduced themself, bowing and accidentally spilling water out of the container he was holding at the same time.

You curtsied in response and told Bad your name. He complimented it before finishing his gardening to give you a tour of his home. You were extremely grateful for his kindness, you wondered if he was used to having strangers traveling through his land. He seemed very nervous around you, his hands trembled as he prepared a food basket for you for the next morning. You also noticed his limp, “What happened?” You referred to his leg.

He followed your finger and laughed when he saw that you were pointing to his injury, “Do you not remember the war?” You shook your head. “You must be from another land then... Well, there was a war between two rival royals. They both wanted the land because more land constitutes more power. I fought on King George III’s side. I got into a horrific battle and was one of the few lucky ones. It’s a miracle, and one that I can’t forget thanks to my injury. Anyways, the war was brief because when King George III passed away unexpectedly, his enemy disappeared. Both kingdoms suffered drastically, so the remaining royal families agreed to unite their kingdoms to achieve both of their final wishes: to have more land.”

“That...seems so bizarre,” you rose your brows in disbelief. You have never heard of this historic event before, which made you wonder what you did remember. It felt like your mind was blocked—that there was something behind the indestructible wall that separated your consciousness from your past. It worried you, but the little voice in the back of your head reminded you to keep calm. “I’m surprised I don’t remember that.”

“Well, this world is practically endless. You must not be from around here.” Bad explained and handed you the beautifully put together basket—filled to the brim with muffins, fruit, and other necessities. “I assume you aren’t looking to do any farm work.”

“Sadly, no. I must continue moving,” you responded, smiling as you received the gift.

“On a quest?” He perked up.

“You can say that,” you shrugged. It wasn’t a quest, but it was a personal quest. Your inner voice was searching for something, and you felt that if you didn’t find this special item...you would never be satisfied.

Bad chuckled lightly and nodded, “Let me show you to your room.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[sylvies-chen]

Suggestions - Melendaire

(AO3 link)

// Neil accidentally lets something slip on a drowsy Sunday morning in bed with his girlfriend. Claire, naturally, panics. //

Word count: 2384

Neil Melendez wakes up with Claire Browne in his arms just about every morning.

The feeling still hasn’t gotten old.

Their one-year anniversary is coming around the corner. Just under two weeks away, the surgeon realizes when he does the math in his head. And even after all this time, the feeling of waking up with her head on his shoulder and tucked under his arm has never lost its luster. The rush of excitement and pure affection still rushes through his veins all the same. He’s still groggy as that dawns on him, barely awake enough to move away from the blinding sunlight coming in from the bedroom window. All he does is squint and tilt his head the other way, right into Claire’s brown curls. Getting a face full of hair should bother him, but he’s used to it by now— it only makes him smile.

They don’t need to get up right away today. It’s one of their few days off, which means they’ll spend most of the morning the way they usually do when they get a day off: sleeping in for a while, going a few rounds if they’re in the mood, and then making pancakes for breakfast. It’s a nice routine they’ve gotten into over the past year, one that’s made Neil dread work the next day. He just likes spending time with her too much; likes getting lost in her and her soft brown eyes.

Suddenly, he feels her stirring in his arms and she opens her eyes, waking up slowly with a tired moan. “What time is it?”

“Early,” he replies, sitting up in the bed leaning against the backboard.

“Ugh, I hate early. I want to kill early,” Claire groans. “Do we have to get up?”

“No. It’s our day off, we can sleep in. No surgeries, no difficult patients, no paperwork. None of it.”

“Good,” Claire sighs contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek and sitting up to snuggle into him. “I like staying here with you.”

“I like it too,” he admits, smiling. “Hey, what do you say we go running this afternoon?”

“Yeah? You think we’ll be fully awake by then?”

“Definitely,” he affirms. “We can sleep in and then go after lunch. And the only thing I love more than you and my work is beating you at the track.”

“Oh, really funny, Neil,” she quips sarcastically, giggling. “If you win, it’s because you cheat!”

“I prefer to call it being creative,” he protests. “Besides, you’re the one who keeps falling for the old ‘fake an injury’ trick. I’ve done it a hundred times now and you fall for it every time.”

“Well excuse me for trying to be a good girlfriend,” she mumbles teasingly, accepting defeat.

“Don’t worry though, sweetheart. When I beat you this afternoon, it’ll be fair and square,” he comforts teasingly, pressing a kiss to her head. They normally spend their mornings like this too— exchanging quick kisses.

“You’re unbelievable,” Claire giggles. “Always so—“

“Arrogant?” He guesses the end of her sentence, because it’s one of the first things she’d called him when she came to St. Bonaventure’s.

“Self-assured,” she corrects him. “But if you want to say arrogant then I won’t argue with that.” She gives him a teasing smirk, which sends them both into a fit of laughter.

“I want to marry you,” he lets out as he chuckles, before he can really think about it.

Oh crap. Something he hadn’t even expected to say, something lingering underneath the surface of his mind, just slipped out.

Oh crap. Claire’s staring at him with eyes like a deer in headlights.

Oh crap. What the hell did he just say?

It’s not like he doesn’t want to marry her. He definitely does. They’ve been dating for quite some time now, ever since that close call during the earthquake nearly a year ago. But they’d both agreed to take things slowly, especially since it had taken everyone at work a little while to adjust to the idea of him and Claire in a relationship. Dr. Melendez and Dr. Browne, secret lovers. It wasn’t exactly a smooth transition, but they’d weathered it together. He loves her and she loves him, that’s all that ever really mattered. Now, they’ve built this life together— a routine of date nights and tender kisses. He’s never felt happier, and his love for her has only grown stronger with time.

So yeah, the thought of marrying her has crossed his mind more than once. Although apparently, it’s crossed his mind more frequently than he’d thought because here he is, blurting out a proposal while tangled up in bed with his girlfriend on a Sunday morning.

“What?” Claire gets out of bed and stands up, pulling the sheet up to cover her chest. Suddenly, through Neil’s fault and his fault alone, she’s wide awake and alert.

Neil winces, his nose scrunching up into his eyes. “Nothing. I mean, I didn’t— that’s not...”

“Oh my god,” she lets out, quiet and stunned as she gets up out of the bed and takes the sheet with her, keeping it wrapped around her body. “You just asked me to marry you?!”

“No no no,” he replies frantically, reaching to grab his boxers and yanking them on before standing up to face her. The bed separates them, but her eyes are wild and piercing with shock. He knows he’s just done something monumentally stupid. “That wasn’t a proposal, I swear.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

“It was...” he pauses to rack his brain for something to say to get him out of the corner he’s backed himself into, and he only lands on one thing. “... a suggestion,” he finishes with a shrug.

“A suggestion?” She looks at him skeptically, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Yes,” he confirms hesitantly.

“Ok, that’s it,” she nods curtly. “you’re insane. This— this is insane!”

“Look, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “It was a nice moment, I was happy and still half asleep, and- and it just slipped out. Like it or not, I said it. But if you want to go back and pretend like it didn’t happen then fine, we can do that.”

“Well we can’t go back now, Neil,” she huffs. “I can’t go on pretending you didn’t just say that. I mean— god, I can still hear it in my head even now! We need to talk about it.”

“Ok,” he sighs— a little defeatedly, since he has a gut feeling that this conversation isn’t going anywhere he likes (and his gut has never steered him wrong, being a surgeon has taught him that much). “The floor’s open for discussion, Browne. How do you want to go about this?”

He tries to be as clinical as possible he waits for a response. This whole situation is a little embarrassing, really. In the small amount of time since they’ve woken up in each other’s arms, Neil’s somehow managed to blurt out a proposal to his girlfriend of less than a year and has nearly ruined everything. They’re both standing on opposite sides of the bed, in nothing but their underwear, and Neil swears the tension is thick enough to choke them to death. He can picture his colleagues attempting some hypothetical surgery, can picture calling the time of death of their relationship and marking the cause of death off as asphyxiation on some intangible substance. It’s funny, in some weird and twisted way. He’s beating himself up over where this conversation is heading, but at least Glassman would get a kick out of it.

But then, by some miracle, it doesn’t head that way at all.

Claire exhales quietly, deep in thought. Melendez can see her muscles relaxing, the tension leaving from her shoulders as she sits back down on the bed. She leans in a little, staring shyly at her fingers sunken into the bedsheets. “Well, for starters... I think you should ask me again.”

“What?” His brows furrow as a small smile creeps onto his face. Neil sits down across from her on the bed, delightfully stunned. “Are you being serious?”

“I am,” she replies calmly. Her tone is a hell of a lot calmer than Neil feels right now. He can practically feel the excitement rushing through his veins.

Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying?

Neil hasn’t expected this conversation to come for a long time. They grew into each other’s love in time, but it doesn’t erase the scars they have. Claire’s pain and trauma is actually what made her so scared to admit she loved him in the first place. It’d taken him being on the brink of death for her to admit her feelings. Now, they’ve finally grown more comfortable with their feelings but Neil still knows that taking it slow is the right move. It’s why he was so surprised when that proposal slipped off his tongue. Proposing after nearly a year of dating isn’t exactly moving at a slow pace. He supposes his feelings for her— the overwhelming urge to marry her— overcame all the voices of reason telling him to take it easy for fear of scaring her off.

Now though? Now it’s a whole different story.

He stays quiet for a second too long and the small smile on her face fades, bringing in a nervous glance instead. “I mean, only if you want to ask me,” she adds awkwardly after a moment.

“God yes I do,” he assures her. It sparks a small giggle from Claire, her eyes now sparkling and glossy with what Melendez thinks are tears of joy. “I just... I figured you might want it to be a bit different from this. I don’t even have a ring.”

“Well you know me, I’ve always hated romantics,” she dismisses with a watery chuckle.

He laughs in return and smiles until his cheeks hurt. The space between them on the bed slowly closes as Neil inches forward, dragging the sheets with him and taking her hands in his. “You... you are the single best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he starts. The awe in his own voice surprises him a little, but it’s not unexpected. Spend enough time around Dr. Browne and you’ll get used to incredible. That’s what he’d said around a year ago, and it still rings true now. He’s also said being around her makes him a better surgeon and person, which is also very true. She just makes him better, in everything he does. “I love you more than I thought was possible. So, Dr. Browne...” Claire lets out another watery laugh but her hands start to shake in his, so Neil holds them tighter. “... Will you marry me?”

There’s a moment where everything is quieter than silence. Neil starts hearing ringing in his ears, a throbbing sensation that this could go very wrong. Or, as he suspects (and hopes), it could go very very right. And he knows this is weird— that not-so accidentally proposing to your girlfriend while half-naked on a Sunday morning isn’t exactly the traditional way to ask someone to spend the rest of their life with you— but he just doesn’t care. Neil wants to have a life with her. He wants the whole package, the thing they’ve both been searching for long before finding each other. The life they’d almost given up hope on. And not for the first time since he’s met her, he wants it with Claire Browne.

And the silence is broken, like a dam flooding with a river that ends up only being one word. “Yes,” she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Neil can tell, even without looking in a mirror, that his face lights up at those words. His cheeks hurt from smiling so widely, his body practically aches for her.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of unprofessional touches or intimate moments. He’d been so scared to cross the line, the point of no return. But now, he’s about to spend the rest of his life with the most talented, kind, incredible woman he’s ever met, and he doesn’t have to be scared. He leans over, meets her in the middle of the bed while on their knees, and kisses her without hesitation.

It’s sweet, the way Claire’s kiss is always a sweet release to him, and beautiful. Admittedly, he feels tears of his own coming on and tastes the salt streaming onto their lips from both of their eyes.

Claire pulls away after a while, laughing and smiling while crying. They’re both blubbering messes at this point, filled with overwhelming tenderness.

“What do we do for a ring?” Neil finally asks after they both compose themselves a little bit.

Claire looks around the room, ruffles around the drawer of the nightstand for something, and then finally pulls out a sharpie. “Here,” she says, pulling the cap off. Melendez watches in shock as Claire scribbles a line all the way around her ring finger, forming the trace of a ring with black ink. “It’s not a permanent solution, but it’ll do.”

Neil laughs giddily. Only Claire Browne would draw an engagement ring on her finger. There’s truly no one like her, and he loves her for it. “It looks beautiful, Dr. Browne,” he teases.

“It’s just until we get something nice. And when we do, it better not be anything big or tacky or expensive. But that’s just my preference. You know— just a suggestion,” she finishes with a smirk.

“Right,” he chuckles. “And I suggest you kiss me now.”

“That can be arranged,” she quips back teasingly, smiling as she leans in with her hands on his bare chest.

Neil smiles into the kiss, his lips pressing against hers. His hands find her hips and pull her in until they’re flush against each other. They crash onto the bed in a frenzy of blankets, Neil settling on top of her gently, and he sees Claire’s beaming smile and the black ink around her ring finger.

It’s the last thing he sees before he moves in to kiss her again. Neil tastes her lips on his, and thinks proposing to her was the best suggestion he ever made.

[kjack89]

happiness

Sequel to ‘tis the damn season (Tumblr | AO3), gold rush (Tumblr | AO3), closure (Tumblr | AO3) and evermore (Tumblr | AO3).

ExR, modern AU. A happy ending, or, perhaps more accurately, a happy beginning.

It was an unseasonably chilly day in early June, but the sun shining brightly offset the chill enough by late afternoon that Enjolras left his red hoodie in his apartment before heading across the city.

Weather aside, he figured it would probably be overkill to show up at Grantaire’s gallery dressed like he had in high school. Even if it would have been a good bookend to closing the chapter on the worst mistake he had ever made.

He was fine the entire train ride downtown, but when he got within a block of the gallery, his stomach began doing somersaults and his palms started sweating. He paused outside of the unassuming brick building that held his future and took a deep breath.

A breath that caught in his throat as he saw Grantaire through the window.

Ten years and six months later and he was still stupid for this man.

Only now, he wasn’t too proud to admit it. And he wasn’t willing to waste any more time.

Enjolras pushed the door to the shop open, the bell tinkling above his head as he did, and Grantaire glanced up from where he was typing something on a laptop, his eyes widening when he saw Enjolras. 

But when he stood, his expression had evened out into something neutral. “I’d ask if there was something in particular that you were looking for, but I don’t think we have anything on display that matches your revolutionary-chic style,” he said mildly.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Not to mention, I very highly doubt you have anything in stock that fits my budget.”

“So then what can I do for you?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Are you off work soon?”

If Grantaire was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I was technically off work twenty minutes ago, but I wanted to finish this up.”

He gestured vaguely towards his computer and Enjolras nodded. “Then when you’re done with that, can we go somewhere and talk?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You can’t talk here?” he asked. “I know you’re not a huge fan of art, but…”

Enjolras’s lips twitched. “I’m not that afraid of art,” he said, “but I also don’t want to put you in a situation that makes you feel uncomfortable, and I know having this conversation at your workplace could easily be uncomfortable.”

“Then why did you come here?” Grantaire asked, sounding more curious than anything.

Enjolras shrugged. “Well, for starters, I don’t have your home address.” He returned Grantaire’s raised eyebrow. “And even if I did, I don’t think showing up there unannounced would be likely to make you more comfortable.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Touché. So how about this, then – as I reminded you the last time I saw you, my phone number hasn’t changed. Why didn’t you just call me if you wanted to talk?”

Enjolras’s smile faded, just slightly. “I thought this was a conversation better had in person.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire had something that he wanted to say to that, but whatever it was, he clearly decided against it. “Fine,” he said instead. “There’s a park a couple blocks from here—”

“I know it,” Enjolras said quickly. “Meet me by the fountain?”

Again, it looked like there was more Grantaire wanted to say, but again, he didn’t. “Sure,” he said. “See you in about…” He glanced up at the clock. “Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes max.”

Enjolras nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, hesitating for only a moment before turning to leave. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes on him as he left, and his stomach was turning even more than it had been before.

He didn’t know what he had expected after six months – hell, he didn’t know what he had any right to expect. It wasn’t like he had expected some big, cinematic reunion, especially not after how the last time they saw each other had gone. And maybe the fact that Grantaire hadn’t immediately ordered him to leave was as good a sign as he was going to get.

And maybe he was reading way too far into a two minute long conversation.

In a desperate attempt to calm his nerves, or perhaps more accurately, to give him something to do besides obsess for the next twenty minutes, he ducked into a coffeeshop to grab two coffees, bringing them to the park with him.

All in all, he wasted maybe five minutes, which left him with fifteen minutes to panic.

That was probably a little overdramatic, even for him, but he’d been building this up for so long that he couldn’t help but feel like he had fumbled it already. Or maybe that’s just what happened when you got this close to getting everything you ever wanted.

He exhaled deeply and focused on the fountain, watching the way the water caught the late afternoon sun, and tried to calm his pounding heart. His therapist would tell him that he needed to refocus on why he was here, and why he was actually nervous. He wasn’t nervous that he was going to screw this up, in large part there was no way he could screw up worse than he had in December.

He wasn’t even that nervous because Grantaire might again rebuff him, though he certainly wouldn’t relish the feeling.

No, he was nervous because for the first time, he wanted to be as open and honest with Grantaire as Grantaire had always tried to be with him. And Enjolras wasn’t historically in a position of making himself vulnerable like that, or vulnerable at all, if he was being completely honest..

But he had to be. Between therapy, Combeferre, and just plain realizing what an asshat he’d been for the past decade, he had realized he had no other choice.

And he was finally ready to accept whatever came of that.

With his stomach finally back where it belonged and his heart returning to its regular speed, Enjolras took another deep breath and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and enjoying the feel of the sun against his face. He stayed like that for a long moment, until— 

“Can you really blame me for calling you Apollo when you look like that?”

Grantaire sounded more amused than he had in the gallery, and Enjolras’s eyes snapped open. “Yes,” he said, giving Grantaire a tentative smile as he sat up. “Here, I got you a coffee.”

Grantaire accepted the outstretched cup but didn’t take a sip. “You don’t know what kind of coffee I drink these days.”

Enjolras shrugged. “No, but I figured what you used to like in high school would probably be acceptable,” he said, before adding, in his best Grantaire impression, “Tall, dark and strong. Blacker than night and sweeter than sin.”

“I have never once in my life uttered the phrase ‘sweeter than sin’,” Grantaire said with a laugh.

“Well, you have now,” Enjolras said, just a little smugly, watching as Grantaire took a sip. “So how’d I do?”

“You’re just lucky that I’m predictable,” Grantaire said, finally sitting down next to Enjolras on the bench. They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment, both men drinking their coffee, before Grantaire turned to look expectantly at Enjolras. “So,” he said pointedly.

“So,” Enjolras repeated, looking at him closely.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk, so...talk.”

“I quit my job.”

Enjolras hadn’t meant to blurt it like that, but Grantaire didn’t look surprised. “Ok,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “And?”

“And I called Combeferre,” Enjolras said. “And started therapy.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “You say that like you hadn’t spoken to Combeferre in a while,” he said, ignoring the therapy part, at least for the moment.

Enjolras shook his head. “I hadn’t.”

“Your best friend from college?” Grantaire said skeptically.

Enjolras could feel himself flush, just a little, and he sighed as he glanced away from him. “What can I say, you weren’t the only one I lost touch with. I clearly made some mistakes over the years.”

“You think?”

Grantaire said it mildly, and Enjolras barked a laugh. “Remind me to never introduce the two of you,” he said. “I don’t think I would survive it.” Grantaire suddenly looked very occupied with his coffee cup and Enjolras frowned. “Hold on…” he said slowly, before realization hit. “You’ve met Combeferre? How?!”

Grantaire took too big a sip of coffee and choked on it. “Blind date gone spectacularly wrong,” he rasped when he had recovered enough to speak.

“Seriously?”

Grantaire nodded. “Seriously.”

Enjolras hesitated for a moment. “When you say spectacularly wrong…”

“We discovered we had exactly one interest in common.” Enjolras frowned, confused, and Grantaire nudged him gently. “You, you idiot.”

Enjolras shook his head. “He never said,” he told Grantaire, feeling – and sounding – a little put-out by that. “You can bet I’m bringing it up the next time I see him.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” he said, a little impatiently. “But that’s enough about that. We’re here to talk about you.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Actually, I wanted to talk about you.” Grantaire looked surprised, at least until Enjolras added, “I just have one thing to say first.”

A sharp smile curved across Grantaire’s face. “One? That would be a miracle.”

Enjolras sighed. “Ok, so more like one series of interrelated things to say.”

Grantaire smirked. “And that sounds more like it.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Is there any chance that you’re going to make this easy on me?” Grantaire mimed zipping his lips and Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as well, warmth filling his chest. This was what he had missed, how easy this was – how easy it had always been. Only now, it was easy because they were on the same footing. And he had never before realized how amazing that would feel.

So he took a deep breath, and he told Grantaire, “Like I said, I quit my job. I started therapy. I’m putting in the work. And I wasn’t sure that I was ready, or that I was where you needed me to be for this conversation. I know that I can’t put this on you, and I don’t want to.”

Something pained flitted across Grantaire’s expression. “Enjolras—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“Please,” he said quietly. “I just need to say this.”

Grantaire hesitated before nodding, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’s face. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, hoping that the starkness of the words underlined their sincerity. “For a lot of things, for how I treated you, and, probably even worse, for not realizing that I was treating you that way. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I needed to say it.”

He shifted, his knee knocking against Grantaire’s, and only realizing then how close they were sitting. “I’m still figuring a lot of things out,” he said. “You’ve had a decade of therapy, so I’m still playing catch up. And I know that I’m not better. I’m not whole. Not yet.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “The truth is, I lost a part of me when I broke up with you all those years ago, when I first traded something good for what I thought would be better. And I kept losing pieces of myself along the way until I became someone I didn’t even recognize. And I spent a lot of time these past few months trying to find these pieces and trying to get back to where we started. But I finally realized, I can never go back. I’ve lost too much. So I have to rebuild with what I’ve got, and fill in the rest of the missing with something new. And...I want you to be a part of that something new.”

“Enj…” Grantaire whispered, but Enjolras didn’t let him interrupt that time either.

“You said that there was a part of you that would always love me. And if I never truly loved you back then, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a part of me that will always love at the very least the idea of you, the idea of what we had and the possibility of what we could be.” Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “I know that that’s not a lot to offer.” He huffed a laugh, and ran a hand across his face. “Truth be told, I don’t have a lot to offer these days on any level. Thankfully, I saved a lot of money when I was doing the work I hated, and that’ll hopefully be enough to keep me afloat while I do the work I want to do, but it’s nothing glamorous.”

“I never wanted glamor,” Grantaire said quietly. “I just wanted you.”

Enjolras ducked his head, swallowing hard, before he looked back at Grantaire. “Well, thankfully, that’s all I have to offer: Me, and the fact that I want to try, and the chance that this could actually be something real.”

Grantaire’s expression was oddly closed as he fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup, staring at the fountain. Enjolras didn’t try to interrupt at first, knowing that at the very least, he owed Grantaire time to think about it. But after a few minutes had passed, he couldn’t help himself, clearing his throat before asking quietly, “What are you thinking?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m thinking... honestly, I’m thinking that this doesn’t seem real.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire gave him a smile that was a little crooked and a little sad. “I mean, you’re sitting here, and you’re saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear you say, and…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “I don’t know, it’s like...well, frankly, like it’s too good to be true. Like it’s a dream.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he murmured, his voice pitched low, his head tilting towards Grantaire. “It does seem like it could be a dream.”

“Exactly,” Grantaire said a little hoarsely, his eyes darting down to Enjolras’s lips and back up again, even as the space between them disappeared. “And if it’s a dream, that means I have to wake up at some point.”

“Mmm.” Enjolras hummed in agreement, his lips now mere inches from Grantaire’s. “That means there’s only one thing to do.”

“What—?” Grantaire started, before letting out a yelp and jerking back as Enjolras pinched his arm. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Proof that you’re not dreaming.”

Grantaire scowled and rubbed his arm, even as a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Asshole,” he said, but without any real heat. “Was that really necessary?”

Enjolras looked at him evenly. “You tell me.“

All traces of Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “I wish it wasn’t,” he said. “But even with that dash of reality, I still don’t know if I believe it. I mean, people don’t just go back to their high school boyfriend a decade down the line.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras acknowledged. “But I’m not your high school boyfriend anymore. Literally and in the figurative sense that I’m not that person anymore. And you’re not either.” He took a breath. “And if you don’t still feel it, if you don’t want to try, that’s fine. Say the word and that’s the end of it, I swear.” He squared his shoulders. “But if your only hesitation is that you don’t think this is real, then short of pinching you again, the only thing you can do is believe in me. In this, in us.”

Grantaire went very still for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Ok,” he said, closing the space between them to kiss Enjolras for real this time.

The move was such a surprise that Enjolras jerked back without meaning to. “What, just like that?” he asked blankly. “Seriously?”

Grantaire shrugged, his hand not moving from where he had rested it against Enjolras’s cheek like he had so many time before. “I told you back in December, I still believe in you.” He brushed his thumb lightly against Enjolras’s cheekbone. “Besides, in case I need to remind you—”

“I know, I know, you’re wild,” Enjolras grumbled. He looked at Grantaire, unable to stop his smile. “You really mean it?”

“I mean thatI can’t make any promises, because it’s been a long ten years for both of us,” Grantaire said evenly. “But I want to try.”

That was all Enjolras needed to hear.

This time, when his lips found Grantaire’s, neither man pulled away. 

Enjolras didn’t remember it ever feeling like this, like he and Grantaire slotted together perfectly, and part of him longed to trace his fingers down Grantaire’s chest, to turn the kiss hot and heady until they would both be breathless, until one would suggest taking this to somewhere more private.

But there would be time for that later.

They had all the time in the world.

And there was still one thing Enjolras had to say.

He kissed Grantaire once more and pulled back, reaching down to take Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Now, for probably the first time since this all started…” Enjolras paused, mostly for dramatic effect, but also to admire the way the corners of Grantaire’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. The years may have been long, and he would spend a lot of time learning everything he could about what life for Grantaire had been like without him, about every moment that he could see reflected in every crease on Grantaire’s face, but he didn’t regret them. Not when it had brought them here, together, and would give them years together to come, at least if he had anything to say about it. “Enough about me. I want to hear about you.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “What do you want to know?” he asked easily, with none of the hesitation he’d had six months prior.

Enjolras didn’t hesitate. “Everything.”

[marsmoonqueen]

Red

WinterSoldier!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Mentions of blood, nightmares.

Prompt / Summary: Bucky has been dreaming with a mysterious girl, and it seems that he is not the only one missing her.

Note: Hi everyone, two in a row, that’s a miracle jajaja. “I could take you anywhere you want” is the continuation of this fic. 

Bucky saw, in his dream, how the sea in which he was drowning changed colors and became blood instead. The blood from the people he had killed as the winter soldier, covering everything around him, including himself.

         He was about to scream both in his dream and in real life, but the ground changed again, and the thing between his fingers wasn’t blood anymore, it was hair, red hair.

         Red hair decorated with green leaves, pink daisies and wildflowers.

         A laugh, a laugh took him out of his nightmare and into another dream. A sweet one, this time; in which he found himself with his, now literal, ‘dream girl’. A dream in which he was the happiest.

         “Red” he murmured between dreams, loud enough for Wanda to hear. She had gone to his room to wake him up from the nightmare he was having, and that was projecting also in her head; but found him instead dreaming with a red-haired woman whose face she couldn’t see.

         Trying to make as little noise as possible, Wanda closed the door, and went back to her room.

  “Steve, do you know if Bucky had a girl, he called Red?” She asked one morning, days after Bucky’s first dream. Three pair of eyes found her face.

         “Red?” Steve tasted the name on his lips. “No, I don’t think so…”

         “Why?” Sam was quick to ask.

         “He has been dreaming with a woman… he calls her Red, and he seems happy around her”. Wanda explained as she took a sip from her tea.

         “Maybe it’s me…” A tension settled in the air around the four friends. “Maybe that’s how he called me when he was the winter soldier”

         “What do you mean ‘maybe’?” Steve asked defensively

         “Yes woman, what do you mean maybe? Did he call you like that or no?” Sam followed, irritated.

         “Well, I don’t remember him calling me that way…” Natasha started “But maybe that was my nickname for himself”.

         “Unlikely” Wanda responded “He was calling for her in his dreams, why would he call her by a name she didn’t know he used for her?” Natasha stayed silent for a while.

          “I don’t know, but who else could it be if not me? Who else does he know with my hair tone?” She counterattacked

          “You are not the only one with that hair color” Sam stepped in.

          “Enough” Steve declared, clearly irritated.

          It wasn’t unknown that Natasha and Steve’s relationship had been passing through some serious patches since Bucky ‘came back’. The problem was that she wouldn’t stop talking about meeting him in his ‘winter soldier phase’, and everybody was tired of it already. Of course, Steve was a coward and wouldn’t talk about it, or the direction of their relationship; they were a lost case.

Two or three morning later, when Bucky realized that Steve was avoiding him a little, and Natasha was giving him longer gazes, and only then, he dared to ask the two ‘experts’.

         “Who is Red?” was the response he got from Wanda.

         “Red? What does this have to do with her?” He asked, with a straight face and a defensive voice.

         “So, there is a ‘Red’… Is it Natasha?” Sam exaggerated ‘is’.

         “What?” Bucky shacked his head no.

         “What Sam is trying to ask is if the woman you call Red is Natasha?” Wanda tried now, with both her hand around her cup of tea.

         “No, no, for God’s sake, of course no… she is my mate’s girlfriend… I would never” Bucky seem disgusted to the idea of betraying Steve, which made Sam and Wanda smile.

         “The who is she?” Sam pushed him again.

         “How do you know about her? That’s a better question”

         “I asked first” Wanda laughed at the duo.

         “It’s a girl I met… in Romania. At that time I had just escaped hydra, and was starting to recover my memories when I found her… she was in trouble, and even being mostly the winter soldier, I helped her… and she helped me in return” A smile painted on his face, without him noticing. “She gave me a place where to stay and helped me remember who I am, she did a lot of research even though she had a lot to study” He now laughed whole heartedly. “She also always had music in her flat… specifically a boy whose name I don’t remember”.

         “Then, what happen?” Wanda touched his shoulder when the light abandoned his eyes.

         “I had to leave her when all the ‘civil war’ between superheroes and the government started… I left a note for her, but couldn’t say goodbye properly”

         “Wait, Romania… Is that why you have been dreaming with her lately? Because of the mission we are going in some days?” Sam babbled. Wanda gave him a ‘shut up’ glare.

         “Dreaming? How did you know that?” Bucky got up from his seat on the table, between them.

         “Sorry Buck, I heard you the other time calling for her, and asked Steve, he and Natasha are kind of sure you were talking about her.” Wanda stood up.

         “That’s why he has been ignoring me? That punk… I should go and talk to him, thanks for the help guys” He took his jacket from behind his empty chair and walked to the door.

         “Wait! What was her name?” Sam shouted, but it was too late, Bucky had already left the kitchen. “Damn it” Wanda laughed.

  The day of the mission arrived, and Steve still would not talk with Bucky for more than five minutes. He was getting frustrated… but he understood, he would act the same if he thought somebody was trying to steal his Red.

         Now, speaking about the mission… it was a mess. It couldn’t have gone worse. For starters they crashed the jet, were ambushed, and Bucky got separated from his group by five hydra agents that took him to ‘the chair’ every hydra base had; they started speaking the words, they didn’t finished them, but the own fact that he was seated in that  god damned chair made him become someone he was not. After that, he was no longer in control. The winter soldier was.

         A series of events and actions, mostly took by the soldier, brough the team to an empty street in front of an apartment complex. Truth to be told, Wanda and Sam weren’t trying to stop him, they had a vague idea of where the winter soldier wanted to go, after Bucky had told him more stories about him and the red beauty that plagued his dreams.

          But Steve and Natasha were trying everything in their power to stop him from going any further.

         “Okay… I have an idea” Steve tried to find her in the dark “Let me talk to him”

         “No”

         “Steve, you and I know he will listen to me, he knows me… you heard what he told Wanda and Sam, I am the only one that can control him”

         “Oh really? then why hasn’t he stopped yet? Also, what conversation are you talking about?” Sam asked by the intel, with a roll of his eyes.

         “He hasn’t seen me completely… he hasn’t heard my voice” She responded, ignoring the second question.

         “That won’t make any difference” Wanda jumped from a building to another, far behind Natasha.

         “Of course, it will!” Natasha fell on her feet in front of the soldier, who was trying to climb the wall, to get to one of the apartments.

         “Nat no!” Steve yelled. She took her ‘in ear monitor’ off and walked closer to him.

         “Hi Buck, hey it’s okay” she took his hanging foot and pulled him. “C’mon Bucky, get down” When she finally pulled him down, he wasn’t so happy about it. Bucky looked at her in the eyes and his metal hand made its way to her throat.

         “Nat!” Steve yelled from somewhere, but he was still far behind. The three friends tried to arrive as fast as they could to help her… but a voice beat them.

         “James? Is that you?” A girl with a black coat hiding her nightgown asked from the foot of the door. He didn’t hear her… and she realized that she wasn’t talking to him. “Winter! Stop that!” She walked away from the door and the light that was inside, but the soldier recognized her. He teared his gaze from Natasha to the girl, and as usual, he was awestruck. “Let her go” (Y/n) got closer “C’mon boy, let her go, she is a friend” she had seen the black widow many times on the tv to know she was on the good guys side.

         “I don’t have friends” He answered, with that raspy voice she remembered so well. And contrary to his words, he let her go; and walked the distance left between them with his imponent steps.

         If Sam hadn’t been so worried about Nat, he would have laughed at Bucky’s words. He, Wanda and Steve had arrived just in time to watch the girl get out from the building.

         “Oh yeah?” she interrupted their thoughts “Then what am I?” As soon as the words left her lips, the soldier tackled her in a big hug, but moved her between his arms so he could see Natasha if she decided to attack.

         “You are my girl” He whispered to her ear, but because of his earpiece, everyone heard him.

         The girl laughed “Good to know you still remember… won’t you introduce me to your friends?” she asked once she caught a glimpse of them. Bad idea, Bucky rapidly turned around and hided her behind his back, ready to attack.

        “They are not my friends” He took a defensive position when Sam landed in the floor in front of him with Wanda and Steve by his side.

        “Yes, they are silly, you just don’t remember them… but is fine” she tried to get in front of him, but Bucky thinking that he was protecting her, didn’t let her. “Okay, change of context: they are my friends, boy, so calm down”

        He turned his head to watch her “You are lying”

        “No, I’m not” She walked away from him, before Bucky could put another hand on her. “Now, let’s all go inside, shall we?” she opened the door from where she had gotten out and waited for them. Bucky was the first one to enter, but stayed next to her watching every move of his friends as they came inside too.

 Once they were all inside, the girl took them to her apartment, receiving an angry glare from the landlord because it was forbidden to have ‘stray’ people stay the night in the apartments, but a look to Bucky’s own angry face made him shut up.

         “Would you like some dinner? I can call a pizza or something” The girl suggested as she closed her apartment door, just to be received with Bucky arms, who was glaring at everyone.

         Natasha seemed mad about something the girl couldn’t point out, the captain seemed lost in his own head too, but the other pair, the witch and the falcon looked ecstatic.

         “I’m (y/n) by the way” she extended her hand, but before Sam could shake it, Bucky slapped his hand.

         “Ouch! Control yourself Barnes”

         “Winter!” the girl turned around to see him to his eyes, but his gaze was fixed on Sam.

         “Don’t touch her” He hugged her tighter, as he wanted to hid her inside him.

         “Sorry guys, he can get very overprotective when he wants” her voice came out muffled because of her lips being pressed to his chest.

         “Oh really?” Natasha said sarcastically.

         “So, you are Red?” Steve spoke for the first time, Wanda glared at him.

         “Red? Yes, that’s how he calls me, you know… my hair” she said, moving between Bucky’s arms until he let her face his friends.

         “Forgive us, I’m Wanda, this is Sam, Steve and Natasha… and as you know we are friends of Bucky” Wanda smiled at her, but dared not to come closer, in case Bucky slapped her hand too.

         “And yes, we would like some pizza” Sam added, making the girl laugh and Bucky look at her with a frown.

  No one made another sound until the pizza arrived.

         “So… how did this happened?” (Y/n) asked from between Bucky’s legs as she pointing at him, who by the way, hadn’t let go of her since he saw her, and was currently eating pizza from her hands. The soldier was still alert, but more relaxed. “Did someone say the words in your mission or whatever?”

         “Something like that” Steve started. “From what we heard, they didn’t finish, but I don’t know, I think the room was enough to well… program him?” He mumbled the last part unsure.

         “Mhh, I get you” The young woman started “Sometimes, James would become the winter soldier because of a memory, or a dream”

         “Did he tried to hurt you?” Wanda asked, worried.

         “Sometimes in the beginning, but later… I think he thought I was his handler or something, he would wait for me to give him an order” A shiver ran through her spine, Bucky hugged her tighter.

         Sam, Steve, Wanda and even Natasha released a breath they didn’t even know they were holding.

         “Anyway, usually after a good nap he would become himself, if the words were not spoken, if they were… it would take days to come back” She said absently, but then shacked her head no.  “Aimlessly, you can pass the night in here, I don’t mind, we’ll see what happens tomorrow” She smiled at them

         “Thank you, we appreciate your hospitality” Steve got up holding his plate, ready to take it to the sink.

         “Yeah, it doesn’t matter, any of James’ friend is mine”.

 After the plates were cleaned and the pizza boxes were in the trash can, (y/n) divided the rooms, Nat and Steve would be going to the guest room, Sam and Wanda in the living room, Wanda in the couch and Sam in the floor; (y/n) tried to make him use her room along with Bucky but Sam said he’d ‘rather sleep in the floor than near him, even when he was himself’ which made her laugh. Finally, she and Bucky would stay in her room.

         As soon as her back touched her bed, after she changed clothes, Bucky’s arms were around her, caging her against his chest.

        “I missed you too, soldier” (y/n) whispered as she also hugged him.

        “Sleep tight, Red” was the last thing she heard, as she fell asleep.                

[edenmemes]

overwatch sentence starters

❝ it’s just a scratch, you’ll be fine. ❞ ❝ one of these days someone is gonna put an end to you. ❞ ❝ you know nothing. ❞ ❝ i don’t even feel the cold. ❞ ❝ i don’t get mad. i get even. ❞ ❝ you speak of law and order, but you must know life is chaotic by its very nature. ❞ ❝ let us discuss your failures. ❞ ❝ you have overstayed your welcome. ❞ ❝ victory is everything. ❞ ❝ your emotions make you vulnerable. ❞ ❝ there is disquiet in your soul. ❞ ❝ it’d be a shame if something happened to you. a real pity. ❞ ❝ i need a drink. ❞ ❝ big mouth, big target. ❞ ❝ tell me your thoughts, my friend. ❞ ❝ ever get that feeling of deja vu? ❞ ❝ i will put you in your place. ❞ ❝ i do what i must for my people. ❞ ❝ where’s the fun in playing fair? ❞ ❝ bones heal, pain is temporary; scars look good. ❞ ❝ act normal, that’s crazy enough. ❞ ❝ lot of memories of this place. they weren’t all bad. ❞ ❝ someday i’m just gonna leave you. ❞ ❝ i don’t like talkers. ❞ ❝ if you hold the information, you hold all the cards. ❞ ❝ don’t call me a hero. ❞ ❝ i’ve seen worse, you’re going to live. ❞ ❝ that’s ‘sir’ to you. ❞ ❝ i didn’t start this war...but i’m damn well gonna finish it. ❞ ❝ the stars are like trees in a forest, alive and breathing. and they’re watching us. ❞ ❝ pretty place. be a shame to have to kill someone here. ❞ ❝ you sure take this bad guy thing seriously, don’t you? ❞ ❝ you look like you’ve seen a ghost. ❞ ❝ if it lives, i can kill it. ❞ ❝ i'm an army of one. ❞ ❝ c-can you hear that music? ❞ ❝ put your security in my hands. ❞ ❝ your mother was a hero to me. to all of us. ❞ ❝ how can you even look at yourself in the mirror? ❞ ❝ you are looking as lovely as ever. ❞ ❝ life is pain. so is death. ❞ ❝ i killed only because it was necessary. ❞ ❝ i wonder what’s locked up in that brain of yours... ❞ ❝ i hear there’s a nice reward for bringing you in. ❞ ❝ i hate to see your talents wasted. ❞ ❝ the world decided it didn’t need you anymore. ❞ ❝ i make my own luck. ❞ ❝ wanting a better life for you was all i ever dreamed of. ❞ ❝ it’s an honour fighting by your side. ❞ ❝ follow me if you want to live. ❞ ❝ oh, you look tired. ❞ ❝ shh. the adults are talking. ❞ ❝ i’m too old for surprises. ❞ ❝ never stop fighting for what you believe in. ❞ ❝ there’s nothing i haven’t seen before. ❞ ❝ you need to learn to relax. ❞ ❝ i've saved your life. it belongs to me now. ❞ ❝ i've got a bullet with your name on it. ❞ ❝ why are you so angry? ❞ ❝ the world is worth fighting for. ❞ ❝ i know the evil that lurks in the hearts of men. ❞ ❝ you know, smoking’s bad for your health. ❞ ❝ what you call freedom is an illusion that causes more harm than good. ❞ ❝ there are still people i need to protect. ❞ ❝ old soldiers are hard to kill. ❞ ❝ i tried being reasonable. didn’t take to it. ❞ ❝ you think there’s something worth stealing in that temple? ❞ ❝ i’ve come back from worse. ❞ ❝ that went against my better nature. ❞ ❝ are you scared? ❞ ❝ have you prepared for your end? i have. ❞ ❝ let’s see a smile! ❞ ❝ imagine the worst possible outcome. now...avoid that. ❞ ❝ you know, you were never my type. ❞ ❝ is it hot in here, or is it just me? ❞ ❝ mind your manners. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. after everything that happened, i needed time. ❞ ❝ repitition teaches the smart. ❞ ❝ brave of you to show your face around here. ❞ ❝ my fate is written in blood. ❞ ❝ it’s nothing personal, just the way things go. ❞ ❝ you picked the wrong fight. ❞ ❝ do you trust me? ❞ ❝ my wanderings brought me to this place. it was not to my liking. ❞ ❝ master your fears, lest they master you. ❞ ❝ how do you even live? ❞ ❝ such beauty is wasted upon the soul of a killer. ❞ ❝ nothing wrong with a little self improvement. ❞ ❝ i’m feeling young again. ❞ ❝ you were once a legend, but what are you now? just a shell of a woman. ❞ ❝ who taught you to fight like that? ❞ ❝ learn from the pain. ❞ ❝ i get the feeling you’re not taking me seriously. ❞ ❝ history will forget you. ❞ ❝ welcome to the apocalypse. ❞ ❝ i’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. ❞ ❝ i am not your savior. ❞ ❝ violence is usually the answer. ❞ ❝ killing is as easy as living. ❞ ❝ i believe you could find peace, if you were to search within yourself. ❞ ❝ i stopped you once. i can do it again. ❞ ❝ you are the embodiment of chaos. ❞ ❝ you said you would arm wrestle me. nervous? ❞ ❝ i take it you don’t want my autograph, then. ❞ ❝ i’ve stitched you up so many times i’m surprised you can still fight ❞ ❝ you of all people are going to ask me that? ❞ ❝ i don’t even know you anymore... ❞ ❝ respect your elders. ❞ ❝ if we fight again, i can’t promise you’ll walk away this time. ❞ ❝ i still love you. ❞ ❝ you don’t know how to stay down when you’re beaten. ❞ ❝ i expected more from you. ❞ ❝ the destruction here...it reminds me of home. ❞ ❝ don’t underestimate me. ❞ ❝ i always have the last word. ❞ ❝ come at the king, you better not miss. ❞ ❝ was that supposed to scare me? ❞ ❝ just setting foot here sets my soul at ease. ❞ ❝ stop coming after me. ❞ ❝ revenge takes only the one who seeks it. ❞ ❝ the heart of a man still beats inside me. ❞ ❝ i’d say it’s not my problem, but it usually is. ❞ ❝ i was supposed to protect you. ❞ ❝ i know what you are. i am only sorry that you do not. ❞ ❝ you won’t believe what i learned about you. ❞ ❝ i am a different man now. i am whole. ❞ ❝ our paths cross for now. as to the future, we shall see. ❞ ❝ i suspect you will be forever unsatisfied. ❞ ❝ you were the only one who stayed up so late. i enjoyed our conversations. ❞ ❝ it is not too late to change your course. ❞ ❝ you may be fast, but you ain’t faster than a bullet. ❞ ❝ i never thought i’d see this place again. ❞ ❝ it takes a woman to know it. ❞ ❝ no, you find living a challenge. ❞ ❝ so this is what has become of you? a pity. ❞ ❝ i think we got off on the wrong foot. ❞ ❝ if your mother could see you now i think she’d be proud of you. ❞ ❝ this is not the end of the world. ❞ ❝ i've been having the worst headaches. ❞ ❝ need someone to tuck you in? ❞ ❝ i don’t feel. that’s the point, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ why am i being subjected to this agony? ❞ ❝ get too close to the sun and you’re gonna burn. ❞ ❝ learn from the pain. ❞ ❝ do you need a hug? ❞ ❝ stupidity is not a right. ❞ ❝ they used to believe that witches lived in these woods. ridiculous, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you really should take better care of yourself. ❞ ❝ sometimes i wonder why i even bother. ❞ ❝ i will fight to my last breath. ❞ ❝ your mother always hoped you’d follow in her footsteps. ❞ ❝ i killed only because it was necessary. ❞ ❝ you’re so amazing! you inspire me. ❞ ❝ one a scale of one to ten, how is your pain? ❞ ❝ i’m not a miracle worker. well...not always. ❞ ❝ sorry. sorry. i’m very sorry. i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ what is tranquility, but stagnation? ❞ ❝ you know, i still owe you for saving my life that one time. ❞ ❝ you were always a charmer. ❞ ❝ sometimes you scare me. ❞ ❝ you are looking quite well. this life must agree with you. ❞ ❝ i thought you were dead. ❞ ❝ do i look like an angel of mercy to you? ❞ ❝ to know yourself is to be at peace. ❞ ❝ all bark, no bite. ❞ ❝ you seem nice. i hate to kill you. ❞ ❝ you are mistaken. i am beyond redemption. ❞ ❝ the world could always use more heroes. ❞

[planetsam]

I apologize if this is too vague, but would you mind writing some Malex that is nice to Michael (especially on Alex's part)? The Michael negativity is starting to get to me today. If not, that's okay. Thank you, I'm happy to see you back.

“The good news is it’s a clean break.”

“Fucking wonderful,” Michael spits back.

The fact that Kyle’s managed to sneak him into the hospital to do this is a miracle. It definitely fast tracks him for sainthood. More than he is already. Michael vows he’ll put in a good word if Kyle just helps him die already so he can stop feeling the deep achey agony in his leg. He shrinks back when Kyle approaches with a syringe.

“I have to set your leg,” Kyle says, “I’m not doing it without taking the edge off.”

Considering all the Kyle has done, Michael is almost surprised that this is the hill he’s willing to die on. But between that, the night they’ve had and the agony in his leg, he’s reluctantly willing to give consent.

“Guess you gotta draw the line somewhere,” Michael mutters, trying to ease himself back with minimal jostling.

“Michael—Michael!”

He pushes himself up as Alex hobbles in. Michael has no idea how he’s standing. Then again, knowing Alex, it’s probably some combination of spite, determination and sheer willpower. There’s still blood faintly on his chin and it snakes down to decorate the collar of his shirt. The pain in his leg is making his heart pound but the memory of Alex and the mist makes it so much worse. Dimly he can hear shouting but he’s also back there, wiping blood from Alex’s chin and screaming for help.

Alex grips his hand. Michael can’t make out what he’s saying but he can focus on the sound of Alex’s voice. His free hand fists itself in Alex’s shirt. Alex grips his other shoulder to steady him. He’s been high enough to know that Kyle’s stuck him and the drugs are making their way through his system. Michael knows the pain can be numbed but the loss of control makes him whimper. Alex’s fingers tighten on him and under any other circumstance he’d be embarrassed but at the moment he can’t find it in him.

“3, 2–“

The world goes sick with the sound of his bone coming together. He thinks he yells. He definitely tries to fight off Kyle but he’s got no powers. Kyle and Alex have never had powers so they know exactly what to do. He doesn’t manage to get to his leg or hurt anyone, he just winds up curled against Alex’s chest. There’s worse places to be, if not for the adrenaline coursing through him. There’s more fogginess which means more drugs. He shakes his head and Alex says something affirmative. As he’s eased back he sees Kyle wrapping his leg.

“You’re ok?” He mumbles to Alex.

“I’m fine,” Alex says. Michael tries to look down towards Kyle for confirmation and Alex blocks his view, “Michael I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Michael mumbles.

Alex rolls his eyes. Michael figures he must not be close to dying if Alex is rolling his eyes at him. Just drugged. After an undetermined amount of time Alex helps him sit up. Michael stares down at the plaster that encases his leg. For a moment he flexes his fingers and remembers them wrapped in bandages. A cast would have been good, his leg hurts a hell of a lot less.

“Do they cast fingers?” He wonders.

“Not usually,” Kyle says, “can he use your crutches? The less equipment I steal the better.”

“Yeah of course,” Alex says.

“Good, I’ll get you sorted out and we’ll get Michael out of here before anyone asks.”

When he wakes up he’s in a car. It’s an oddly helpless feeling. He worries for a moment that Alex is driving but when he looks over Alex is sitting next to him, looking equally like he doesn’t want to be there. His leg aches but it’s still manageable so he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the glass and drifts off again.

“Michael.”

He wakes up and realizes he’s sitting in a wheelchair. He doesn’t remember getting out of the car. Alex is standing in front of him. It takes him a moment to look around and realize that they are in Alex’s house and they are alone. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Alex is pissed off. Or maybe it does with the drugs in his system. But displeasure is written all over his face and it is directly at him. Michael cocks his head, he still feels foggy enough that the usual gut punch of anger and hurt that comes with disappointing Alex is far away. It’s been a long night and he’ll take what hr can.

“What’d I do?”

Alex shakes his head and steps forward.

“I’m going to help you clean up,” he says.

“No, what’d I do,” Michael says, belatedly trying to go for the chair with his powers before remembering that’s a non starter, “come on.”

“You’re not in a place to have this conversation,” Alex says.

“Counterpoint: I can’t run away,” he says motioning to his sorry state, “or wheel away,” Alex’s brow furrows, “come on, what’d I do?” Alex says nothing, “silent treatment,” Michael says, “that’s new.”

“You’re an asshole,” Alex scolds. Michael grins, “it’s been a long night, can I please help you clean up so I can go shower?”

Michael shrugs and nods. Alex helps him out of his shirts and wipes him down with a cloth. Michael wishes he was aware enough to enjoy the feeling, but then he remembers Alex is upset.

“Is this because I saved your life?” He asks, “is it because I built a bomb that could blow up your family? Or the other one that could blow up my species?” Alex gives no response, “is it because you got kidnapped because of me?”

“No,” Alex says.

“Then why?” Michael asks, twisting around. Alex glares, “is this because I left you in the room?”

Bingo.

Alex’s glare darkens and Michael knows he hit the nail on the head even before Alex puts the cloth back in the bowl and stands up so he’s taller than him. Michaels just numb enough to have a passing enjoyment of the view.

“I am capable of taking care of myself,” Alex snaps, “just because I got kidnapped—“

“That’s not it—“

“And they confiscated my leg, that doesn’t mean I’m an invalid,” Alex finishes loudly.

Michael is stunned. But then he realizes he shouldn’t be. Of course that’s the thing that would piss Alex off. Not anything that has to do with the fact that everyone who wishes his family harm has picked up on Michael’s feelings. He’s oddly disappointed. He’s gonna have to tell old Greg he was wrong.

“That’s what this is about?” Michael asks.

“What else would it be about?” Alex demands.

“I dunno, anything else that’s happened in the past few days? Anything else I did? Anything anyone said?”

Alex looks away and then comes forward to help him out of his jeans. Michael pushes his hips back as much as he can and shakes his head. Annoyance flashes in Alex’s eyes but he respects it and straightens up. Michael knows he wants to shower and that Alex is probably really fucking good at compartmentalizing, but for him everything is blending together.

“Look I’m sorry,” Michael says, “not for leaving you there, I stand by that, but for making you feel like you couldn’t help.”

“I didn’t want to be left there,” Alex says, “it didn’t do any good anyway.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Michael snaps, “it’s pretty obvious.”

“If you had let me help maybe things would have been different. Instead of wasting time—“

“Keeping you safe isn’t a waste of time!”

“I can take care care of myself,” Alex points out, “don’t say you know that,” he adds when Michael opens his mouth, “you think you can protect me and you make these decisions—“ his brows draw together, “it doesn’t protect me. It hurts us,” Michael inhales sharply, “and if I meant as much to you as everyone seems to think you would know that by now.”

“That’s not fair,” Michael croaks, realizing too late that this isn’t a good idea.

“Neither is what you did,” Alex shoots back.

“Yeah, but—“ Michael fumbles, trying to string the right words together. Max was the poet, not him, “that’s all I can do,” he says finally. Alex raises his eyebrows but he keeps his mouth shut. Michael wishes his mouth wasn’t so dry, “I got nothing else,” he says.

“That’s not true,” Alex retorts.

“Yeah it is,” Michael replies with a dry laugh, “I’m not even good at it, but I got nothing else.”

The past few months have made that clear. Max, Isobel—anyone they care about is hurting. Hell he almost killed everyone anyway. He’s managed to keep everyone at an arms length for so long, he didn’t realize how many people wormed their way in until he couldn’t protect any of them. It hurts like hell. But it’s his own private hurt. He doesn’t want anyone pulling it from him, he deserves to feel this way. Laying it out to Alex like this is more uncomfortable than the itch he can feel pricking at his toes. He tries to focus on that and not on Alex’s response. He isn’t expecting Alex’s hand to settle on his shoulder.

“Maybe you should let the people you’re trying to protect help,” he says.

It’s a lot nicer than what Michael is bracing for but it still feels like a cut. A sharp, surgical one but one not the less. Alex is right, of course. And infuriatingly he’s right in a way that isn’t something Michael can call him a jerk for. He’s right in that quiet way that makes Michael’s stomach flip flop even worse. He’s had enough of needles for the past few days but he kind of wishes Kyle was back here to stick him with one so he could drift off instead of feeling the words settle over him.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, “lets get this over with,” he says abruptly, reaching for his belt. He tells himself he’s imagining that Alex’s fingers tighten on his shoulder, try to hold on, before they let go so he can help him, “you probably wanna shower.”

“I’m guessing you do too,” Alex says, helping him wriggle out of his jeans.

“You gonna get me out of this?” He asks, perking up. Alex would have a way to get him out of the cast, “I’m down.”

“No,” Alex says and undoes the breaks for the chair.

Michael finds himself in Alex’s bathroom with his head tipped back over the sink. The last time they did anything like this was after he was injured last time. When he couldn’t get his hand wet. It’s an odd thing to wind up back there. Of course Alex’s bathroom is beautifully equipped for it. Michael hums as Alex pushes his fingers through his hair and scalp.

“You having leg problems?” Michael asks.

“No,” Alex says, “why?”  Micheal waves his hand around and Alex makes a soft sound that’s nearly a laugh, “I don’t shower with it on,” he says, “I got everything done here when I was still healing, sometimes it was more comfortable off,” he pauses, “now it just seems good to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Michael asks.

“Prepared for you breaking your leg,” Alex replies, turning off the water and helping him sit up.

“Touché,” Michael mutters, taking the towel Alex hold out to him, “so you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex says.

He helps Michael change into clean clothes and Michael feels both a lot better and a lot worse. Better emotionally, physically he’s starting to get sore and his leg is achey. But it’s better than when his leg was broken and out of place. Alex wheels him out of the bathroom.

“Hang on,” Michael says, “can I—can I wait here? Just to make sure you get out okay?”

It feels like a dumb request and given everything they said earlier, Michael expects him to say no. Alex turns away and Michael tries not to kick himself. He’s down to one working foot and he’s still managed to stick it in his mouth. But Alex comes back with a phone in his hand and offers it to him.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me but if it does, you aren’t going to be able to lift me,” he points out. He gathers clean clothes for himself, “I’ll be out in a bit.”

He goes into the bathroom and Michael listens to the sound of him undressing. He tries not to feel too much like a perv as he hears the various pieces of metal hit the ground and the hiss of the vacuum on Alex’s prosthetic releasing. The sound of water starts up. A moment later the low sound of Alex’s voice hits his ears. He’s singing. It makes Michael smile because Alex doesn’t seem like he sings anymore. Even if it’s the shower instead of the packed arena’s he definitely belongs in and he can’t make out any of the words, Michael still can wonder at it.

Alex comes out and looks surprised Michael’s managed to stay awake. He wheels Michael back into the living room and quietly makes up the bed. Michael doesn’t try to initiate any conversation, he wants the sound of Alex’s singing to be in his ears for as long as it can be. It’s strange to think a few hours ago he was throwing himself on top of Alex to protect him and a few hours before that he was throwing himself on top of him because he was so glad he was alive. Now he leans on him as Alex helps get him onto the bed. Alex locks the wheelchair and grabs his old crutches, putting them besides it.

“Just in case,” he says.

“Thanks,” Michael says, “for everything,” he adds.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Alex tells him.

“You would’ve been fine,” Michael points out. Alex smiles sharply.

“I know,” he says, “but thanks all the same.”

Michael nods. It’s hard to sit there as Alex stands, both of them still wet and clean but with the weight of what’s happened staining them. Michael isn’t sure if it’s a good or a bad thing. He’s not sure that’s actually entirely up to him this time. All his decisions before have been shit. Maybe it’s time to not just make them on his own, not when it comes to this.

“Hey save the sentimental stuff for when you sign my cast,” he tells Alex. That gets him a much softer smile, “that’s what you do with these things, right? Get people to sign them?”

“I’ll sign it in the morning,” Alex says, “get some rest.”

“You too,” Michael says. Alex moves into his room, “hey, uh, Alex can you—“ Alex claps twice and the room plunges into darkness, “damn,” Michael mutters, “thank you!”

“Goodnight Michael.”

[sinnabonka]

Hey Hun! Lots of love to you. For starters I wanted to say that there should be no cell in your body blaming yself in any way. You and your blog were hope for so many people. You were the "you are not crazy" of the final weeks, and I'm forever grateful to you. Instead of dying of anxiety I managed to have a blast in this time of waiting, thanks to you. I passed my master thesis, because you gave me strength to see past the fear. I laughed in those weeks more than in last 5 years, and all of it because of the hope you gave me.

The rest of the msg is going to be pretty emotional rant about the awfulness of it all, and I know my opinion doesn't matter to anyone but I wanted someone important to me to hear my thoughts, if that's ok. It's also ok if you don't want to read it ofc. It's like my breakup letter to the show.

I hear many people cheering for the finale and i find it really hard to deal with. I always considered myself an open person who fights for healthy love as the only redeeming quality of the universe. I could see people's point of view, even if it didn't sit well with mine, and I would always try to hear them out respectfully until they weren't being respectful themselves. That said, I'm fully unable to understand cheering for this type of spiteful content and hearing those cheers makes me feel like the entire world is listening to "this is how you treat your fans, this is how to abuse your power over naive sheep, this is how to keep dumb, hopeful minorities in check" and taking notes.

It also upsets me that the people who gave this show all of themselves and tried to understand it to the core are given no resolution, are spitted on and buried under the rug for doing their best to appreciate the art and the story it was telling. Yet people, who just hang around and watch the show doing the dishes, with no consideration to it's story or characters, got as nonsensical ending as their whole idea of character development in SPN.

I know people say that it was good enough, because it leaves space for guessing and own interpretation, but I feel it's really undermining the extend to which the finale was awful and hurtful to the fans. There is no end that realistically could stop fanfic writers from finding way around it in the world of Supernatural, so saying it was thoughtful of them Is like excusing abusive partner because "they could hit me harder, but they didn't. That means they care"

Lose ends, characters being written in a way that is totally not true to them and their development (personally my biggest allegation), dismissing years of story development, proving that it was all 'queerbaiting' in big part in the end (hell, even the whole "Cas is in heaven so do with it what you will" is a shameful way of appalling to LGBTQ community after using them so hard.

In the pie scene, the roles should be swapped, it's Dean who should say that Cas is on his mind and Sam explaining him that it's only right to keep on living doing good in their name. That's what Dean told Sam at the beginning of the season, when Sam lost Rowena, so it would be at least a bit poetic. This would at least give us some truth from Dean for once, but he died how he lived, in shadow of his fear to be true towards his feelings and needs. And as he died, he bound his little brother to the hunting till the end of his days, by guilting him into it on his deathbed. Guess Dean took after his father.

Have you realised what that emotional "love speech" from Dean to Sam resulted in? It was writers taking back Cas' confession after they didn't need our viewership anymore.

They basically gave us love confession to get us to follow the finale and when they didn't need us anymore, not only they didn't commit to the confession, but they undermined it by having Dean's speech to Sam go the way it did with obviously higher emotional charge, successfully taking back the value of Cas' confession and making it about a bait for "Tumblr idiots"

Finale killed my feelings towards Destiel, not because it wasn't confirmed canon, but because from what I see in the episode, they canonically confirmed that

- for Dean, Cas was only means to an end, which is such an awful way of ending Cas' character arc. They gave him everything he was scared of and nothing close to consolation price and they dare to tell us he had a happy ending, "because they said so". Well, I didn't see him being happy, and knowing what i textually know i can empathise enough to say that he faced a miserable finish. Even Chuck got an end that was better than Cas' fate.

- Dean, given power to do anything he could dream of, chooses to not even greet Cas, after Cas gave his whole life to Dean, told him he loved him and died for him. I know some people consider the little smirk of Dean confirmation of his feelings, but let's be real for just a second. If someone you deeply loved for years confessed to you, told you they thought you don't love them back, you would be freaking running to see them and tell them how much you love them. That smirk to me reads as "I'm relieved to know you're not going to spend eternity in mega hell that i left you in" and we really need to stop giving credit to writers for scraps like this when it's the last episode ever and we know this isn't going anywhere.

Not to mention that by having Jack bring Cas back behind the scenes it just highlights the fact that Dean didn't ask him to do that in episode 19.

As result, I'm unable to look at any Destiel scene and not think "in here Cas already loved him and in here Dean already abuses the power he had over Cas, because of his one-sided love"

And yet, the episode and endgames for everyone (maybe not Sam, but he was seriously pinning for Dean his entire life. Wincest much?) managed to be so bad, that not even bringing Cas back or following up on Destiel would make a difference in my eyes. I know you believe that Destiel would save it, but for me as much as it would be a redeeming quality, it wouldn't be enough to save this awfulness that writer doomed characters with.

And all the Wincest scenes in the finale... I low key expected them to make out and it made me feel physically sick. Also, cutting Misha out because of coronavirus is a cheap excuse. We all know better than to believe that, so let's not fall for the self pity play from the abuser.

If you managed to stay with me till this point, thank you so much for hearing me out. I hope i didn't anger you with my monologue. I will always think of the lamp when i think of you. The reality is that you were the lamp for so many of us in this darkness.

Love you so much, wish all the best to you, take care of yourself and stay safe!

Oh my god, if I didn’t cry with the final, I definitely am crying now. And now I have to explain my partner why I’m staring at my laptop and sobbing ugly. What have you done? 

First of all, I hear you pain, my friend! I share it! I didn’t spend a second after the final without the feeling of my heart being shuttered into million pieces, being stitched back just to break again, and so on and so on. 

I had my first panic attack in two years yesterday, when I kept thinking about the message the show sent to the fandom via Dean’s fate. I have a few posts in my draft on the matter, but I am not sure I will ever share them, because it is one strong depresso, and I don’t think people following me should see how fucked up it really is (if they didn’t get it by themselves, of course). 

I want to remind you, my gentle soul, that the story belongs to us. We know Dean, we know Cas, we know Sam and others. We know that the final is not who they are! I know it’s hard to ignore the text, the canon, because it’s kinda godsent, but the truth is essential. And the final is not the truth.

The truth: 

Cas loves Dean, he sacrificed himself for him, he saved his life on multiple occasions, he told all those beautiful things and he meant every word.

Dean loves Cas, he was on his lowest every time he lost him, Cas was his “big win”, his best friend, his brother, his white light that lead him out of his anger, hatred and despair. He took a dog and called it Miracle, he was looking for a job to retire from hunting, he didn’t kill Chuck - all of that, because the sacrifice Cas made was not in vain! The message was clear. 

I choose to ignore the “Carry on”, the only attention it is going to get is me creating 20 more mails just to put a one star review there and to drop some more salty or bitter comments with it. Maybe I will read through some reviews, too, add them to my collection. 

Maybe I will one day write here an article from scriptwriting perspective how fucked up in was, because that’s what I can do about it, without throwing up. 

If you can’t ignore it, I understand it. It is painful, it is disrespectful, I hate it as much as you do, probably. 

If there’s anything I can do for you to feel better, just drop me a message, we can talk about it. I am on the lowest, too, but maybe we can help each other.

You say I was your lamp. Let me lead you our of the darkness one more time <3 

CW can suck my metaphorical dick (I’m tagging every angry post with it), but Supernatural is not just the show on CW, it’s a big family. 

And you can’t give up on it! You can’t give up on Dean and Cas, you can’t give up on Destiel! It’s so much bigger then the show itself.

Rediscover the show for yourself, remind yourself that Dean and Cas are real, it was never one sided, it was always something amazing. 

What is real? We are.

Don’t you ever change.

I rather have you, cursed or not.

It’s love, hun, and love always wins. 

[imbellarosa]

did someone say they wanted a small, sad SPN 15x20 rewrite (of sorts)?? it’s under the cut. the point of this is to show that they could have made it (mostly) tragic without making it Completely Pointless. this one’s for @queenlokibeth and @treatlouwithkindness who are grieving with me and for @dependsonwhospitching and @belgianreader2 who have been WATCHING me grieve for this fandom they knows nothing about and being the best kind of friends and also for anyone who asked what my writing looked like! this is a bit of an unbeta’d mess but here it is! 

They keep going. The road is in front of them, and they keep going, and they don’t stop until they run out of gas. Dean blasts Led Zepplin until his ears hurt, until his throat is raw from shouting the lyrics. He had forgotten that Cas had left his mixtape in the car last time they’d driven out. A trench coat, too, as it had turned out, a clean one. Guess Cas had gotten used to having his shirt ripped too many times to not have a spare handy. 

 (“Why would he not bring another one,” he had asked about Star Trek once, after Kirk’s shirt had been ripped again. 

“Not the point, Cas,” Dean had rolled his eyes and taken a swig of his beer.)

Sam looks at him like he’s worried, talks to him like he thinks Dean might spontaneously combust at any second. Dean tries to not feel offended. It isn’t like Sam’s wrong, but he wishes that they could act like everything was normal, for a second - like they used to, before Demons and Angels and Apocalypses, and trials and falling and flying. Eileen calls on the third day and shatters the illusion. It’s not that Dean isn’t happy to hear from her - of course he is - but it reminds him that he is acutely alone, and that it’s always going to be that way. They make a sharp U-turn, and start driving in the direction of the coordinates Eileen gave them. 

They stop in a small town along the way, meet some vamps ( “fuckin’ vamps,” Dean grumbles as he decapitates the last one), and keep moving west. Around Pontiac, Illinois, Sam stops the car and gets out.

“Dean,” he sighs, “what are you planning?”

“What’d’ya mean,” he replies, knowing exactly what he means. 

“Really?” Sam looks at him. “You want me to believe that Cas is dead and you’re just - what? You’re just accepting it? That it’s fine?” 

“It’s not fine, Sam,” he snaps, then takes a deep breath, and tries again, “it’s not fine. But what do you want me to do? Man, we just went up against God, and we won. Haven’t we learned that every time we play with these big, cosmic pieces that things just get more screwed? We can’t do that again, Sam, Cas wouldn’t want us to do that again. He’d want us - you - to get that apple pie life. So let’s just. Let’s do that for him, okay?”

“And what about you, Dean,” Sam doesn’t quite seem to believe him. Hell, Dean doesn’t really believe himself yet. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I dunno,” Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks at the trench coat in the backseat. “I’ll probably go back to the bunker, find a new job. Hit the road for a while” - he glances at Sam, who’s hair is almost long enough to tie into a bun - “you and Eileen could come with, if you want.” 

Sam sighs and seems to consider it, but Dean knows what he’s gonna say even before he does. Dean has always known his brother better than himself. 

“Nah,” Sam glances at him, then at his phone, and then at the sunset. “I think I’m gonna go try that apple pie life for a while. Or at least get as close to it as two former hunters can get.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Thought you might say that.” 

“Hey,” Sam grabs his forearm. “If you ever need anything - help on a case, or a place to stay - anything - just let me know.” 

“Yeah,” Dean turns and faces his brother, and it feels like goodbye, even though he knows it isn’t. 

                                                              *

They reach Vermont - where Eileen had popped up - and met her in front of a bed and breakfast by a lake. She said that she just...appeared there one day, without a phone or money or a place to go. She’d borrowed the owner’s phone and called Sam as soon as she could, and had done some hustling for starter money. Sam stares at her like she’s a miracle, which, Dean supposes, he is. It’s the second time she’s come back to him, and Dean can see that Sam knows the absolute unlikeliness.

“What. Uh, what happened,” Sam clears his throat and tries to rub the tears out of his eyes. “How did it..how are you here?”

Jack, she signs, he said. He said that everyone should be with their families. 

“So, uh,” Sam looks at her like she’s going to disappear any second, “everyone’s...they’re okay?”

Well, she shrugs and smiles, and Sam had missed that mischievous glint in her eye, they’re all probably a bit confused, but we’re ..

”not dead,” she finishes verbally. Dean looks away, frozen like a deer in the headlights, or a boy lost in a crowd.

Sam grabs her and he hugs her and she’s small and slight, bones and edges and he can feel the outline of a gun hidden in waistband and he wonders how and when she got ahold of that, but mostly, he holds her and when he breathes in her hair smells a bit like apples. He doesn’t notice he’s crying until she pulls away and reaches up to wipe his tears. 

“It’s okay,” she says, and then signs, I’m okay. 

“I missed you,” Sam says, “I just. I missed you.”

I was gone for a week, she signs and rolls her eyes theatrically, what would you do without me? 

“Uh,” Sam gives a watery chuckle, “Let’s never find out, okay?”

That’s when Dean clears his throat. It’s not that he doesn’t love his baby brother, that he isn’t over the moon for him, because of course he is, but...

“Everyone’s back,” he clears his throat and checks his phone, “all of you?”

“Dean,” Eileen says, and her voice is kind. Dean thinks that he should learn more sign language. If she has to speak his language, he figures he should learn hers, too. And then he thinks that that sounds like something Cas would have said, and he looks back at Eileen, who’s trying to meet his eyes. 

“Is Cas...” Dean trails off, because he can’t ask the question - he knows the answer.

“He gave me a message for you,” she says, and she moves out of Sam’s arms to stand in front of him. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s okay. That Jack pulled him out.”

“So where is he,” Dean growls, turning away. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Sam interpreting, and it strikes him just how much Sam loves this woman - this woman who was one of them, who had fought beside them, who had made her way back to them. He faces her again. “Where” - his voice breaks, and he almost wishes Sam weren’t here to see it - “where’s Cas?”

“He told me,” Eileen continues, signing as she speaks, “he told me to tell you that he meant what he said. He said that he wanted to come back and see you, but that his son needs him. That your son needs him. He said that Jack might be God now, but he’s still his son, and he needs help now more than ever. That maybe God needs family, too, to remind him to be kind. Cas” - Eileen is crying now, too, she can’t help it - “Cas said that you’d understand that. That he’s going to be waiting, and that it’ll be sooner than you expect. He says that he’s gonna see you again, and that he knows. He told me to tell you that he knows what you were gonna say. And that he’s always going to...have his ears on. 

“I don’t know what that means,” she finishes with a small shrug. “I’m sorry.”

And so Dean does the only thing he possibly can do. He gathers his sister, and he hugs her, too.

“Yeah,” he says, letting go. “yeah, I get it. Thanks. That, uh. That means a lot to me.”

Sam looks at him with those puppy dog eyes he’d had since he was a baby and Dean waves him away.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says loudly, “Come on, Sammy, let’s go start the rest of our lives.”

They turn back, and go inside the inn. 

                                                             *

“Hey Cas,” Dean whispers into the dark, the moon just a hang nail crescent shape outside his window. A new lunar cycle. He’s got twenty days ‘til werewolf time. He wonders if he’ll ever stop keeping time with monsters. “Eileen says you have your ears on, so. I mean, here’s hoping she’s right. Uh. I get it. Believe me, man, I do, Jack needs you. Hell, one of the last things I told him was that he wasn’t family and I was wrong - I was so wrong. Tell him. Tell him that I miss him, too. That he’s always gonna be my kid, you know? Even if he is all powerful now. 

“Um. But. I miss you. I know that you’re up there, and I’ll see you again but that’s gonna be years from now, man, and I just don’t know how to wake up and not see you in the kitchen trying to figure out how the coffee machine works. I don’t know how to watch a movie without looking over to see if you got the joke. Damn. So much for no chick flick moments, huh? Eileen said. She said that you knew and I didn’t have to say anything, but that’s how we got in this mess to begin with, so uh. Here goes, I guess. You gotta know that you’re it for me, man. I’m not as good with words as you are, but at the end of the day, I guess I always kinda thought we were gonna grow old together, you, me, Sam, in the bunker watching bad movies and finding new cases and just...making it up as we go along.

“I thought that one day you’d just...I don’t know. Move in with me, I guess? And that would be that. I thought we had all the time in the world, and then we had no time, and I didn’t - I froze. I’m sorry that I was a coward. I’m sorry that I didn’t say this - any of this - when you were here to hear it. But, uh. Hope you’re hearing it now.”

Somewhere, a bee hums its way back to its hive, singing in tune with a prayer. Somewhere, a boy laughs loudly, looking down at his little brother and thinking I will always keep you safe. Somewhere, a car moves down the interstate, music at full blast, driver high on life. Somewhere, a writer writes, and the world does not change at all. And, outside his window, Dean sees a falling star, and pretends that it’s an angel with a crack in their chassis, making their way down to find someone who loves them. When he falls asleep, he does not dream. 

                                                             *

Dean goes back to the bunker. It’s big and empty, but it was Cas’ home, and so it’s his, too. Sam and Eileen go back with him, but he knows they won’t be there for too long.

“This will always be your home, Sammy,” he says when Sam loads his boxes onto an old trailer of Bobby’s, because Dean’s trying to say all the words he feels out loud these days. 

“I know, Dean,” Sam says, even if he doesn’t, and then he hugs his brother tightly, not for the last time, but for the last time in this moment, as the people they once were. When they meet again they won’t have grown together, and so they will be strangers, in some ways. 

Maybe, Dean thinks, that’s how it’s supposed to be. He watches Sam and Eileen climb into the truck and head North, and he calls them at the end of the day to make sure they haven’t run into trouble.

“You don’t need to come save me yet, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but he’s secretly relieved that they’ll always have this, and so he doesn’t hang up until Eileen shoots him that look that says ‘I’ll murder you if you don’t hurry up’, and he’s more scared of her than Dean, so he hangs up and keeps driving.

Sam doesn’t stop driving until they make their way into Texas, into a small town with a house that sits on a large lot of land, and has a storm cellar in the basement. They raid the local grocery store for all the salt they can find, put rosaries into the water tanks, and then they start unpacking their boxes. Sam thinks that he’s never gonna be out, not really, but he’s not gonna be in either. He needs this for a while - the trees and the long grass and the woman beside him and nothing that goes bump in the night. He sends a quick thank you to Jack and Cas and thinks that maybe they can start to heal. 

                                                              *

Dean watches movies on Thursday nights. At first they’re movies that he meant to show Cas but never got around to: Lord of the Rings, When Harry Met Sally, James Bond. Then he gets around to watching those dumb nature documentaries Cas would always put on when he thought no one was paying attention - Dean was always paying attention, and now that he realizes it he just...he feels so damn stupid. But he watches them anyways, because he thinks Cas would have enjoyed it if he’d sat down with him and watched a thing about bees, just once.

“The things I do for you, Cas,” he says out loud every time he picks a new one. “Gotta admit, though, that David Attenborough - he knows what he’s talking about.” 

He tries watching a horror movie once, but it hurts, looking at the demons on the screen and remembering Meg and Ruby and Crowley and Lucifer and Michael and Cas. It always comes back to Cas. 

“I just miss you, man,” he says to his room, his car, his cup of coffee. He keeps the dog named Miracle, and he thinks that Cas would have liked that, and he takes him on walks every morning and pretends that Cas is with him.

“I got a call from Jody last night,” he says to no one, though he puts headphones on so that people who see him don’t think he’s all sorts of wacko. He could just be on the phone. He wishes he was on the phone. “She says that Claire and Kaia are getting really serious. Says they want to move out and start hunting together, and she wanted to know what I thought of it. Can you believe that, Cas? Told her to give her a bit of space, and remind her that she’s family. You probably would have said it better, but. It’s the best I got. I’m not used to this whole...talking thing yet, okay? Claire’s 21 now, Cas. I feel so old. Maybe I’ll invite Jody and Donna and them for Thanksgiving. Sam and Eileen, too, of course, but we have more than enough space in the bunker.”

Dean will never stop saying ‘we’. 

                                                           *

Sam has a kid and names him Dean and Dean cries for hours when he finds out. He calls Claire and tells her to drag her ass over for a visit next month, he knows she and Kaia are busy saving the world, but to not forget about him in the meantime, and she agrees and tells him to get his ass off the phone and enjoy his nephew. 

“You’d love this,” Dean tells Cas, “he’s such a good kid. He never cries. Sam and Eileen almost thought something was wrong with him, Sam even took him to a priest to have him checked over, what with the...you know. But nah. He’s a perfectly normal kid - or, as normal as you can be, if you’re Sam’s kid, I guess.”

Dean laughs, then sighs, looking around Sam’s house, how he and Eileen have built a life and then babyproofed it. Sam hasn’t hunted a single monster in over nine months, and the world is still turning, somehow. Ten years ago, he never would have believed it. But now, well. He has faith.

“Tell Jack I said hi,” Dean whispers to Cas. “Tell him I miss him, too, and that this kid is gonna know all about him - you, too, you know. I’m never gonna shut up about you.”

An owl hoots outside of baby Dean’s window, and Dean chooses to believe that it’s Cas laughing at him. 

                                                                *

He gets old. Every Christmas, he sets up a small tree, and at the top of it, he puts an angel with a blue tie and a trench coat. He takes up Bobby’s phone banks, and suddenly he’s got Sheriff’s from all over the country asking him if he’s agent “Swift” or “Spears” and every time he hears the names, he smirks and glances upwards and says, “Yeah, hello, who am I speaking to?” 

Big Threats pop up, and before long he realizes that he’s built quite the network of hunters to deal with it, that he no longer needs to hit the road himself. So he starts buying up classic cars, and he fixes them up. Chevy’s, BMWs, Fords, you name it, he buys it, then he restores and sells them, and uses the money from the sale to buy the next one. He puts the extra cash back into the network of hunters, making sure they have fakes, supplies, and a safe place to go if they need it. And so, over the years, the bunker becomes a sort of Hunter Hub. A home base. 

Sometimes, couples would leave their kids with Dean while they went out on jobs, and he would tell them stories of when he was young. He’d tell them of his brother, who had brought about and then stopped the apocalypse, of the demon who became a friend, about Ellen and Jo and the Roadhouse, how it had been a place like his for people who needed it, he told them about Bobby, the man who raised him and loved him even though they weren’t blood, and he told them about Kevin and Charlie who had been so young and still fought so bravely and taught him so much. He’d show them the postcards that Charlie sent him - was still sending him - from her and Stevie’s world travels. And, of course, he’d tell them about Cas. Always Cas. The angel who saved him from hell, who revolted against heaven for the sake of the whole world (for Dean’s sake, because he loved him), who became a man and kept fighting anyways, though he didn’t know quite how. He told them about Cas and Metatron and Cas and Lucifer and Cas and Naomi and Cas, Cas, Cas, everywhere.

Sometimes, when the children were older, he’d show them pictures to go along with the stories. A copy of the last picture he has of Jo and Ellen, standing there with Bobby and Sam and him and Cas and he tries hard not to think about how its just him and Sam left. He shows them pictures of Cas in a cowboy hat and Jack in stupid sunglasses. He shows them pictures of Sam and Eileen, even though they don’t visit very often. 

(”I can’t, Dean,” Sam had said. “I can’t raise my kid how dad raised us. I have to be out.”

“I get that, Sam,” Dean had nodded, “But this is my life. I gotta do this, not just for me.”

“I know,” Sam had said, and then, “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Love you, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

And they had laughed, and Dean would go to their house for Christmas and the New Years and they would go to his for Thanksgiving, and he would meet up with Sam once a month in a small bar in Oklahoma, halfway between Kansas and Texas, and it would be good. Dean would never have believed it, before, but this was...good.)

                                                             *

Dean lives ‘til he’s eighty two, and he never once stops talking to Cas as though he was still around. Sam still prayed, sometimes, but not like that, never like that. Dean, ironically, was the most devout person most people knew. He always said that a parent should have faith in their kid, and as his kid was God, well. He had no choice but to be faithful. When he was older, his neighbors would laugh - what a crazy way of looking at the world! Dean would smile and wave them off and put his headphones in, ‘call’ his partner, and walk his dog. 

He dies quietly, one night, and, in the morning, the hunters that had been staying in the bunker find him in his bed, smiling, with an old mixtape on the nightstand. They call Sam, who is an old man himself, and he calls his son (who has kids of his own, Sam can hardly believe it). Dean Jr. (DJ, he’d decided when he was seven, and stuck to it ever since) picks his mom and dad up and takes them to the bunker, where they wrap dean in cloth, build a pyre, and then salt and burn him. A proper hunter’s funeral for a man who never stopped fighting. 

Claire and Kaia are there, and they bring their kids. Sam hugs them, and presses the keys to the bunker in Claire’s hand.

“You keep this place up,” he tells her with a smile, “Dean would have wanted that.”

She’s older now, well in her forties - the same age Dean had been when he’d started to run his home like a hostel for hunters - but Sam still sees the eight year old girl who’d loved her dad so much she let an angel possess her. He thinks, our bodies, possessed by light, and then he thinks about Cas properly for the first time in many years. Take care of my brother, he prays, and then turns to Claire and leads her inside. They have pie together. 

                                                           *

When Dean opens his eyes, he’s in the bunker. He feels lighter than he has in decades: his back doesn’t ache and his joints don’t creak, and he hears someone bustling around in the kitchen. Probably Claire, he thinks, and then moves to sit up before noticing his own hands. The wrinkles that had become so familiar are gone. As are the permanent grease stains from spending so much time under the hood of a car. His old hunting boots are by the door, and a plaid overshirt is bunched in the corner of the desk, like it had landed there when he’d tossed it off the night before. But...he was pretty sure he didn’t own that shirt anymore. He can hear a radio crackling from the living room, playing Ramble On. He hasn’t listened to that song since...well. In a long time. 

Slowly, he makes his way down to the kitchen, and stops dead when he reaches the door. 

“I,” he starts, and his voice is young and strong and nothing like he remembers it being when he went to bed. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, and then the bacon catches fire.

“Woah,” Dean exclaims, rushing over and crowding the stove - it used to be like that, he remembers, between cases - Cas never could figure out how to cook and Dean would always end up shooing him out of the kitchen. Can’t have you killin’ us here, Cas, he would say, and finish the meal for both of them. Then they would sit, have a beer, and not say much of anything at all. Dean had almost forgotten. He turns down the stove, tosses the burnt bacon, and clears his throat. “Well, guess it doesn’t matter if you burn the food here, ‘cuz I’m guessing you can’t kill us.”

“No,” Cas agrees, looking very much as lost and disbelieving as Dean feels. “We’re already dead - or, you are. My condolences.” 

“Nah,” Dean huffs a laugh, “it’s okay. My life was pretty good, you know? But it was probably my time - way past it, even.” 

“Your life was remarkable,” Cas looks at him solemnly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You could hear me?”

“Were you not certain of that,” Cas raises his eyebrows. 

“I had faith,” Dean hip checks him, and smiles. “Thanks for listening.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Cas says softly.

“Jack needed you, I get that. And look,” Dean catches his eye and grins, “here we are anyways. Not like death ever stopped us.” 

They cook in silence for a moment.

“How long has it been, for you,” Dean asks him.

“A week,” Cas shrugs and looks away. “Maybe two. Time moves differently here.”

“It was forty years, for me,” Dean says.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. My life....it was good, Cas. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but I did alright. And I was never alone. I had family. I had you.” 

“Well,” Cas catches his hand and pulls it away from the new pan of eggs, “you certainly have me now.” 

The second pan of eggs burns, too.

[cyanoscarlet]

10.28.2021

Today my mind feels like everything clicked into place. It’s a miracle.

Come to think of it, I only ever get the time to write my thoughts down when I’m calm and collected. I really should develop the habit of doing the same even when I’m a mess, but knowing what I am that’s likely not gonna happen - yet. I’ll try, though.

Well. Few days to the end of October. I’ve officially finished ten months of Second Year in residency.

Looking back, I thought I’d never survive, but here I am.

We had no Third Years above us, for starters, so we had to step up and become chief residents (without being called that). Since we inherited the position prematurely, we were far from prepared. 

Training activities were overhauled and restructured, so every day felt like we were going into the unknown.

Plus lots of inside drama. Lots of things I don’t even want to remember.

But it’s been ten months so far, and things... aren’t as bad as they seem, after all. I guess it’s a good thing?

There have been many bad days. I relapsed thrice, but never consulted for all of them. I put my work first. I don’t know how I was able to pull through despite my mind being utterly chaotic.

Then last Saturday, I went for therapy for the first time.

It’s a different experience from my first psych doctor. Or maybe I know how to handle myself better now. Or maybe it’s because this doctor is an actual colleague. Or maybe it’s because we share the same experiences. But after that consultation, I felt like for the first time, things will be okay going forward.

Having said all that, one good thing that probably came out of all this is that I’ll be prepared for next year. Whereas everyone else who will become their respective departments’ chiefs will be adjusting by next year, it will just be a repeat experience for us.

I sincerely hope we get new residents next year, though. Please, St. Jude.

Here’s to hoping all of this ages well.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled - Ch 12

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME. 

Warning: implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, mention of emotional manipulation/mind fuckery/psychological manipulation, emotional exhaustion, depression

Word Count: 2945

Author’s Note: You made it this far; thanks for sticking with me! I can’t tell you how lovely everyone has been throughout posting this story. I’m going to hopefully start posting my next story “Walk Me Home” sometime within the next week, so if you’d like a tag, let me know. I’ll be posting the preview again tonight. Thank you all for lovely words and flailing, and here’s hoping I’ll see you again at the next story. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for all the flailing. It means so much to me, I don’t have enough or proper words. @cracksinthewalls​​ , you kept me going, you kept this story going. Like. Babe. Seriously. @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , I would have no Dean stories without you, probably would not have even entered the fandom without you. This story was first and foremost for you, and it’s only right the last thanks on it be for you. 

I love you all.

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In case you missed it:

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Miriam swam back to consciousness as gentle fingers probed her face. The pain flared once, a bright flame that consumed every cell of her body before extinguishing all at once. She gasped, her lungs unrestricted and easy, and grabbed at the closest thing she could reach. Her wrists were whole again, functional, and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and wild as fear shot through her gut. Strong arms, for some reason clad in a tan trench coat, supported her as her head swam crazily. 

“Miriam, I presume. I’ve got you, everything’s alright now. Dean is cured. You’re safe.” She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity and strength there. She nodded slowly, willing her heart rate to calm. She took slow, measured breaths until the spinning stopped. 

“Miriam!” Then Sam was in the doorway, rushing over to help her up, Dean following closely behind. What with Sam and the other man already pulling Miriam to her feet, Dean stood a safe distance away, unsure of his reception. 

Miriam thought this wise of him. 

She wobbled unsteadily long enough that Sam insisted on taking her back to her room to rest. She was too wiped out to argue and gladly accepted his support. She glanced back at Dean as Sam led her from the room, and she was startled at the depth of sorrow and pain she saw there. 

Then she turned the corner with Sam and realized the pull she felt from Dean, that insatiable hunger for the darkness, was almost completely gone. 

Almost.

…

Miriam lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, resolutely ignoring Sam’s instructions to sleep. Though she doubted she’d have any new visits from the demon, she could feel her other nightmares waiting at the edge of her consciousness, with a few new additions from her recent misadventures with the Winchesters to add a little spice to the mix.

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her miserable reverie, and she sat up slowly. She wasn’t in pain, the angel (Castiel, Sam had explained) had healed her completely, but she was unsteady with exhaustion and shock.

“Come in, Dean,”

He entered hesitantly, still unsure of his welcome. He’d showered, shaved, and changed into a t-shirt, sweats, and a gray bathrobe. She had to admit he looked a lot better for it. Considering how appealing she thought he’d looked before, that was saying something. 

They studied each other for a long moment, seeing each other as they really were for the first time in nearly a decade. Dean still stood tall and firm, wearing his “comfy clothes” better than most models wore a suit, but she could see the weight of the world dragging at his shoulders, staining his expression with grief and regret. 

But there was less ferocity to him now. He’d lost the feral hunger, the malevolence of his earlier presence that had drawn her in so strongly. She’d never call Dean Winchester soft, not in a thousand years, but this Dean, the real human Dean, was appealing to her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite everything that had happened, he still exuded a sense of strength and confidence that had little to do with his appearance and more to do with a natural gravity that spoke of protection and safety rather than danger and oblivion.

Then again, she thought, maybe I can just see the light on the other side of the darkness now. Maybe that said something good for the both of them.

But it hurt, looking into that light. Looking away from the darkness without shielding herself meant admitting that life without Aaron wasn’t just possible, that it was necessary. 

She’d taken care of him for so long, leaned on him without realizing she was doing so. Now her universe was off-balance in the worst way, vertigo without promise of reprieve. Every day felt like freefall, and she hated that swooping sensation that tore through her gut whenever she opened her eyes and realized he wasn’t just one bed over.

But he was gone. And she wasn’t. 

And now she had to decide what she was going to do with those facts, because she couldn’t continue her dim, half-existence anymore, no matter how much easier it was than facing an Aaron-less life.

And right now, in this moment, that meant addressing her own personal ex-demon.

Miriam offered him a half-smile and indicated the chair by her bedside. He wavered, his jaw working as his frown deepened, but she let him have his internal debate without interruption. After a moment, he made up his mind and sat heavily in the chair, elbows resting on the arms, hands dangling over his lap. He glared down at his socked feet as if angry they weren’t supplying him with the right conversation starter.

“How are you feeling?”

He started at her question and turned incredulous eyes on her, mouth gaping.

“How am I feeling? I nearly killed you, and you’re worried about...Miriam, god, I...I…”

“I know,” she said. He dropped his face into his palms, fingers digging hard into his forehead. His hands strained, veins standing out starkly under his skin, and her heart broke for him.

Dean was a good hunter, a good brother, a good man. He’d been seized by a literal demon, and if anyone besides possession victims could understand that, maybe even forgive it, it was Miriam. And, miracle of miracles, for once she knew the right thing to do.

She arranged her pillow behind her and reclined. Then she lifted the covers, opened her arms, and cleared her throat.

“Come here.”

He looked up at her with red, confused eyes. He straightened up and opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to refuse, say something manly or defensive, or both. She beat him to the punch.

“We are both done, Dean. I’ve got nothing left. I hurt you, you hurt me, we both did horrible things. Now is not the time to make comparison lists of sins. We’ve got tomorrow to tear ourselves new ones. Answer me one question right now, and you’d damned well better tell me the truth.”

He nodded slowly, watching her with wary eyes. 

“Aren’t you tired, Dean?”

He stared hard at her, waiting for something else, maybe a rebuke or an insult, but when he realized she was finished, he sat for a moment, thinking. Then his shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Exhausted,” he finally answered. 

She nodded.

“Then take your damned robe off and get over here. And keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

Turns out, Dean Winchester wasn’t too bad at following directions, once properly motivated. 

Dean fit into her shoulder with the perfection of a worn-out child cradled in trusted arms. As his face relaxed, Miriam thought she saw the briefest glimpse of that sweet, carefree little boy in his smiling mother’s arms. 

Something tugged loose in her chest, and she knew then she’d done the right thing by coming here, no matter the damage she’d sustained. She glanced across the room to see Aaron staring back from the mirror. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you,” she said. She meant so much more, and she knew Aaron understood that. 

Dean shifted in her arms, murmuring something on the edge of dozing, and his frown returned. She moved automatically to smooth her thumb over his furrowed brow, massage the anxious crease that had formed between his eyes. Still drowsing, he nuzzled closer, his freshly shaven cheek sliding over her collarbone. Unable to resist, she pressed her nose to the crown of his head, inhaling softly.

Miriam had done a few hunting jobs in the Northwest, near the coast, and she’d fallen in love with the forests there. Unbelievably tall trees, disappearing upwards until you almost fell over backwards trying to see the tops. Damp and lush, there was a green, mossy smell that hung in the air and mingled with traces of fresh earth and mist.

Dean smelled as if he’d just stepped out from under those trees. Clean, a hint of cedar, and something warm and spicy. She hesitated, a new kind of want blooming in her chest as she held him close, reveling in his solid heat. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smiled when he curled tighter into her embrace.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, missy,” he murmured, eyes still closed. His arm slid under hers until it curled protectively around her back. “Sleep, Miri. I’ve got you.”

She took a deep breath, and settled into the exhale, resting her cheek against his damp hair.

Yeah, she thought, a welcome lethargy spreading through her thoughts. You do.

…

“Sure you don’t want to rest another day or two?” Sam asked. She didn’t have to look up from her packing to know his face was lined with concern. Dean leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t want to say the exact same thing.

“Sorry, Sam, another day of rabbit food, and I might starve. Gotta get some meat before I waste away. Dean, you’re welcome to come with if you aren’t worried about ruining your girlish figure.”

Dean barked a laugh from the doorway, and Miriam straightened up in time to see him wipe the smile off his face under the heat of Sam’s stern glare. She grinned, and Dean winked.

“Gonna go pull your car around. Meet you out front?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean straightened and nodded, disappearing from view.

“You really could stay a little longer,” Sam repeated, his voice low and earnest. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed small, diminished by worry and uncertainty. Dark circles stood out starkly under his eyes, and his entreating smile was probably the weakest she’d ever seen it.

“Sam, I-” she paused, hesitating, then closed the space between them, reached up, and pulled him into a full hug. After a moment, Sam’s good arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest as his head bent down, his nose resting on top of her head. She held him close, waiting for Sam to pull away when he was ready.

“I can’t,” she murmured into his hair. “Not right now. It’s too fresh. I need to...deal with it. Actually deal with it,” she added as he leaned back far enough to give her a sharp look. She noticed he didn’t pull completely away from their embrace, though.

“I’m going to figure some things out, I promise. Again, you strong, heroic men didn’t magically fix my issues. But maybe you gave me the push I needed to do that for myself.”

“You’re welcome back here anytime,” Sam said. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stepped back, releasing her. He gazed down at her face for a moment, and she could see he was choosing his next words carefully. 

“I’m glad you’re going to...deal with it. I get what you’re working through. Not that I’m a paragon of mental health, but I’ve been there. A couple of times. If you ever want or need to talk about everything that happened, about anything at all, you can call me.”

Miriam felt a mischievous smile stretching across her face. “Everything? Well, Sam, when you were gone, there was this one thing that Dean did in one of my nightmares that-”

“Not everything!” Sam yelped, and she laughed, feeling the ever-present knot in her chest loosen just a little more. He chuckled, shaking his head, and squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t lose my number, Miriam. I’ve...We’ve got your back.”

…

“Sure you don’t want to stay for another round of Sam’s ‘queen-wah’ salad?” Dean smirked. His green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and she was surprised at the pleasurable twinge she felt upon receiving that smile. 

“Get your ass off my car, Winchester,” she ordered, feigning exasperation. He pushed up from the hood and opened the back door, lifting the duffel from her hands and tossing it in the back seat.

“Where ya headed?” Dean asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He stared at the ground between them, and she couldn’t help but smile. After all they’d been through, even after chastely sharing a bed for the last three nights, she felt awkward around him, too, though both were too stubborn to admit it aloud.

“Maybe Washington state or Oregon, check out some of the rainforests. The couple of times we had jobs over that way, walking around under all those giant trees made my issues seem pretty small. Could help me put some things in perspective. Anyway, I’ve got some time off saved up. I think I’ve earned a real vacation.”

He finally met her eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step closer.

“Yeah? Sounds pretty...majestic.” He dodged her blow easily, grinning. “I’m kidding. Some time off sounds pretty damn good, come to think of it. Don’t really remember what that’s like. It’s one disaster after another around here.”

“I kinda got that feeling,” Miriam said, pushing the back door shut. She stepped up to him, holding her arms open in invitation. Though he still hesitated, in the end, he relented and allowed her to pull him into a close hug that sent little flutters through her stomach. Just as she started to pull back, Dean’s arms tightened, holding her against his chest.

“We both need to take some time,” she said quietly. He nodded, turning his face inwards, pressing his lips to her temple. “We’ve got a lot of baggage to sort through and shit to deal with and other metaphors about mentally healing. Darkness to yank out by the roots and all that.”

He pulled back, his face drawn with concern. “Miriam, I need you to know. Those dreams you had, I didn’t...I could see them all whenever you came inside the trap.” His complexion darkened, and if she didn’t know better, Miriam would have thought Dean was actually blushing.

“But I didn’t send them to you. When you were outside the dungeon, outside the devil’s trap, I couldn’t do that.”

She nodded slowly, feeling some of the sunlight's warmth leeching away. She’d come to that conclusion herself, after listening to some conversations over the last couple of days between the boys and their guardian angel. 

“I know. And that’s something I’m going to have to work through. There’s darkness in me, and it really, really liked the darkness I found in you.”

They both glanced significantly down at his right arm, their eyes drawn to the dark, ugly mark, before looking up again.

“I just...wanted it to be easy, like you, the demon you, said. I was, I am so tired, and I just wanted to be done.” She could say the words now, as she couldn’t say them only days ago. 

Such a simple thing to say, she thought, and I had to nearly die to admit it.

“Awfully strong drug for any hunter,” Dean agreed, and though she hated that he knew the feeling well enough to understand, part of her was not-so-secretly glad that for the first time in months, she no longer felt alone in her pain.

“But I can work through it. And I think you can, too. I have no clue how, for either of us, but I’m willing to work on it if you are.”

He nodded slowly, and his eyes flicked to her lips for just a moment before his eyebrows raised questioningly. He looked ready to be rejected, braced for her dismissal, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single decent reason to do so.

This time, the only pull she felt was Dean’s arms drawing her closer.

The kiss was soft, simple, and sweet. His hands, scarred and so gentle, slid over her jaw, threading into her hair. He tilted her face to the side, finding a better angle for both of them, and her hands found their way to his waist, tugging him further into her space. After a moment, they broke apart. Dean’s eyes were still closed as she stretched up to kiss his forehead.

“We can work on that, too,” Miriam said. Dean licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded as he straightened. They released their hold on each other reluctantly, and Miriam slid into the driver’s seat before she did something irrational like change her mind.

She cranked the car, stared out the windshield, and sighed. She had to go, needed some time and space to work through her thankfully no-longer-literal demons, but…

She really wanted to come back.

“Hey, Dean,” she said suddenly. He dropped a hand to the hood of her car, leaning down so he could see her through the open window. “You like cowboy movies?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You ever seen The Quick and the Dead?”

His face transformed from sad to wondering to glee in less than a second. “Wild West shootout, Sharon Stone at her hottest, Gene Hackman at his bad ass-est?”

Miriam giggled. “That’s not a word, but yeah. Got a copy?”

“No, but I can get one.”

She smiled, feeling warm and light down to her toes. “Give me a month or two, try to take some time off yourself. Call me when you’ve got a copy of the movie, and maybe we can have a movie night. I’ll bring the popcorn.”

The warmth of the kiss he brushed across her cheek lingered for hours.

[marshmallow-phd]

Secret in His Eyes

Spinoff of Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: A vacation exploring China’s famous city was supposed to be relaxing. When you witness a horrifying murder, you instead find yourself in police custody, unable to run. Trying to stay alive, you meet Luhan, and you believe you can trust him. You never imagined that he might be the one you should be running from.

A/N: Yeah... I was too lazy to keep up with the header so I made a gif instead... 

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I Final

**

Your heart was racing as you followed Detective Zhuang through the trees. Too many times you thought you heard Luhan behind you, shouting for you to stop, but he was never there. It was all in your head – maybe even your heart.

By the time you reached the tree line, you were doubling over trying to catch your breath. Detective Zhuang seemed hardly effected by the run, power walking over to the driver’s side door without hardly looking at you.

“In the car. Hurry.”

You obeyed even though you were still struggling to breathe. As you sat in the leather seat and watched the trees blur by on the back road you never knew was so close, you tried to find the relief you would have expected to feel. But it evaded you. Anxiety stayed in its place. Worry as well. Questions relentlessly bullied you.

Did Luhan yet know that you were gone? How was he taking it if he did? Was he angry? Hurt? Would he hate you? Or think that something bad happened to you? Would he search the ends of the earth or simply let you go and move on with his life?

You hoped that he would let you go. Not an easy feat given how much he begged for you to stay with him. This separation was an inevitability. You just hoped that he would see it.

The relief still didn’t come when you left the country behind and entered the city limits. In fact, if anything, your apprehension heightened. Were you simply used to the security blanket that was Luhan in your life? Separation anxiety was not something you were expecting to be suffering from. Maybe as soon as you were on a plane home – really, truly leaving – then you would be okay.

Confusion came when you passed the airport and Detective Zhuang didn’t slow down even a little bit.

“I thought I was able to go home?” you asked after turning to her.

“There are no planes scheduled to leave the country right now,” she replied. “At least, none that we can seat you on. Tonight, you’ll stay with me, where it’s safest. Hopefully by tomorrow we can get you on your way.”

You nodded, understanding that a giant aircraft couldn’t be catered to your own schedule, but you still wished an exception could be made. Well, staying with Detective Zhuang shouldn’t be too terrible. After all, she made you feel safe and her own residence had to be easier to protect than a random motel.

The tall apartment building that turned out to be her home was nothing like you’d expect from a member of the police force. No, you didn’t think she lived in poverty, but the high-rise that shined in the evening sun seemed to be more fitting for a company director or celebrity than a humble detective. Security was tight in the parking garage underneath the building, needing both a fingerprint scanner and a card reader to open the fortifying gate. Good. That should keep unwanted enemies out.

You stayed quiet as you followed Detective Zhuang through the garage and to the elevator, watching the number climb all the way to the fourteenth floor before going down the short hallway to the last door on the left. She herded you inside and locked up behind her before switching on the lights. Your jaw dropped.

The entire apartment was white and new and glass. Light reflected off of nearly every surface, illuminating the space like the sun at noon. And it was open. Nothing felt cramped or shoved together. There was plenty of room to roam around freely. Everything had a place – from the remote on the sparkling coffee table to the fruit basket and writing supplies on the island counter.

“You live here?” you asked, astonished.

“Yes,” Detective Zhuang laughed. “What did you expect? A dumpy studio in the middle of the slums?”

Now you felt embarrassed. “Well, no. But this just seems… like… a lot. How much-”

“The guest bedroom is the second door on the right. On the bed should be a change of clothes for you. Get comfortable and I’ll make some tea for you.”

You nodded, shutting up. It was only just hitting you how inappropriate the question you were going to ask was. How much she made or how much the apartment was had nothing to do with her protecting you and was none of your business. The only thing you should be focusing on is the fact that no one would be able to find you here. Home was finally in reach.

The guest bedroom was no less as grand as the rest of the apartment, although its theme was a bit darker with its navy blue comforter and gray walls. Waiting for you on the foot of the bed was a cotton t-shirt sporting some band you’d never heard of and a pair of running shorts. You took your time changing and getting comfortable before venturing back out into the living room.

Detective Zhuang was talking fast into her cell phone, but as soon as she saw you, she hung up. “Better?” she asked you.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t too much of a lie. The clothes were certainly more comfortable, but they didn’t easy you into a better state mentally.

Patting the cushion next to her, Detective Zhuang said, “Sit.” As you did so, she pulled out a recorder from her jacket pocket, clicking the starter button and setting it down on the coffee table. “Now. I need you to tell me everything that happened while you were held by Luhan.”

Ice ran down your spine. Everything? You couldn’t. Not the more intimate details, not the feelings that still brewed in the pit of your stomach. Thankfully, Detective Zhuang misinterpreted your fear. She reached out and took your curled up hand that rested in your lap.

“It’s okay,” she reassured you. “He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. But I need to know what happened so we can put him away for good.”

Little did she know that was the last thing you wanted. But you had to tell her something, so you gave her the broad strokes of your time there. You never mentioned the first time Luhan took you out of the mansion or that he pretended to be Lin at all. During the conversation, Detective Zhuang stood up and went to the kitchen where the kettle whistled that the water was now boiling.

“So, why did he call you to his office?” she asked from the other room.

You shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. You felt like a fraud. It would be a miracle if you were able to keep all this straight if ever asked about it again. “I don’t know. We never got that far. A bomb went off, knocking us both out.” Part of you expected her to rush over and asked if you were okay or to question the fact that you even brought up a bomb in the first place.

“Did he get hurt?” Detective Zhuang asked. There was no ounce of concern in her voice, just inquisition.

“Yeah,” you replied. “A piece of wood pierced his side. But he survived. Conscious and walking around, at least.”

She came back and handed you a cup of tea. The steam floated slowly from the caramel colored liquid. You were comforted by the heat radiating from the cup to your fingers, the time you’ve felt that this whole afternoon. “He’s lucky,” she said as she went into the kitchen once more. “Most people don’t survive a bomb made by Mr. Eight.”

You paused before the mug could hit your lips. You roamed over the words that you had weaved together to make sure you hadn’t accidentally slipped the unknown bomb maker’s name in. No. Definitely not.

“How do you know it was made by Mr. Eight?” You put the mug down with a shaky hand, rattling the bottom against the glass surface of the table.

Emerging from the kitchen, Detective Zhuang “If anyone would make a bomb to get back at Luhan, it’s Mr. Eight.”

You shook your head, unable to believe the leap in logic. “But Yixing said he hadn’t been heard from in years. And surely there are other people with the means to get back at Luhan that way.”

She ignored your other comment to focus on another piece of information you’d accidentally let slip. “Yixing? As in Lay Zhang? Interesting. I didn’t realize he was back in town as well. Things are working out a little too nicely, aren’t they?”

It was written all over her face. A hidden agenda that had been there all along.

Jumping up to your feet, you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “Who are you?”

Detective Zhuang scoffed. “You know who I am. I’m the officer that’s been trying to keep you safe this whole time. Now sit back down and finish your tea. It’s considered rude here to let it get cold.”

You shook your head. “Tell me the truth. How did you know about Mr. Eight?”

With a tilt of her head, Detective Zhuang studied your face. “You almost seem… protective right now. Does someone have a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome?”

“No!” you snapped back. “I’m just wanting answers because I’m tired of being jerked around by everyone. No one has been honest with me since that night in the alley.”

Detective Zhuang took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s best if it stays that way.”

You were done with this. She wasn’t who you thought you were and alarms were going off in your head, screaming that you were in danger. Taking a chance, you leapt over the coffee table and ran for the front door. You managed to undo the lock and pull the door open a few centimeters before it was shoved closed once again by Detective Zhuang’s hand.

“You should have just left it alone,” she growled before grabbing a hand full of hair on the back your head and slamming your face against the door, knocking you out cold.

**

Luhan wasn’t surprised that you were gone when he woke up. He didn’t think you would stay there while he slept to regain some of his strength. You were too restless with the events that had occurred lately. But finding you should be easy enough. There were only so many rooms in this mansion that you could hide in and you tended to stick to the ones you knew.

The wound by his side growled in irritation as he sat up. It took him longer than most days to get completely off the bed, needing to take a minute or two between each step before standing up on his feet. It must be past sunset by now given the lack of light out in the hallway. Luhan had to squint in both directions before venturing down towards your room. Out of respect, he knocked rather than his usual habit of bursting in uninvited. When there was no answer, he knocked again.

Still nothing.

Thinking that maybe you were asleep, he carefully opened the door and peeked inside. But the bed was empty, sheets still made from the maids’ earlier clean up. Luhan frowned as he closed the door once more. Okay, if you weren’t there, then where else could you be?

Maybe you were talking to Yixing? It was a start. Luhan could feel the jealousy already churning in his stomach. You always found it so easy to talk to the doctor. Luhan had to work to get to that level with you. And then he almost lost it. While you trusted him again, he knew it was a fragile existence. Just the slightest prick could shatter his progress.

As he approached Yixing’s room, he heard voices echoing inside. He smiled to himself. Good. He must be on the right track. This time, he didn’t knock, barging in the doctor’s room, too eager to see you to wait patiently for an invitation. But the smile faded as soon as he saw the occupants inside.

It seemed like everyone was there – except you. Tao, Yixing… even Kris and the female doctor, although what she was doing there, Luhan had no idea. Worried looks echoed across their faces even as they tried to hide it from him.

“What’s going on?” Luha demanded.

“You should be resting,” Kris stated, but that wasn’t going to be enough to deter him.

“That’s not an answer.” Turning to the one he could trust not to lie to him, Luhan repeated his question to Yixing. “What��s going on?”

Yixing looked nervously to the other two leaders before sighing. “We can’t find (y/n).”

“WHAT!”

Tao rolled his eyes. “Great. Way to lead with the bad news.”

“It’s not like there’s any good news,” the female doctor scoffed.

Luhan pointed to her. “You. Shut up. Tao. Explain.”

“I wanted to ask her a question about that night in the alley because our guys found female DNA on the bomb as well.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, Tao leaned up against the bookshelves. He was worried. As much as he tried to be like Kris, tried to be unaffected and unconcerned, he just wasn’t able to do it. And it was evident all over his face. “When she wasn’t in your room, I checked hers. When I still didn’t find her, I went to the security room to check the cameras. The last time she was seen, she walked out the back kitchen and to the woods. She never came out of the trees.”

Luhan looked in disbelief at his friends. His eyes flickered from one person to another, hoping someone – anyone – would tell him that it was all a sick joke. He even glanced behind him in hope that you would pop out laughing. But that moment never came. He look back at the others, shaking his head.

“No. No.” If he kept denying it, then it wouldn’t be true. Right? “She couldn’t- she wouldn’t just leave. Not like this. She promised. As long as there was danger, she would stay. Here. Where I could protect her. She wouldn’t….” Unless you saw a way out. What possible way that could be, Luhan couldn’t even fathom.

“We don’t know if she left on her own accord,” Yixing said. “For all we know, she could still-”

“She could still be out there.” The possibility hit him like a fast moving train.

Spinning on his heels, he ran out of the room and down the stairs, all the way to the kitchen where he burst through the back door. The others were right on his heels, hollering for him to stop or slow down, but there was no way he would listen.

“(y/n)! (y/n)!” He called out for you as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

There was no moon in the sky, making his search even more difficult. He continued to yell out your name, pausing every once in a while to listen for you to call back. But there was no reply. No response of any kind.

Pain seared in Luhan’s side which stopped him in his tracks. He clutched his side as he fell to his knees in a sad attempt to push away the pain. He needed to keep going, but his wound wouldn’t allow him.

“Luhan!” Yixing was by his side, hands on his shoulders to help steady his friend. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Luhan grunted as he gently pushed the doctor away. He struggled to get to his feet, staggering enough that Yixing had to catch him. Looking at Yixing in desperation, he whispered, “She wouldn’t have just left. Not without a good reason. Someone might have taken her or-”

“If someone did take her, you can’t help her like this,” Yixing scolded, although his sympathy was more than apparent. Hooking an arm around his shoulders, he took on most of Luhan’s weight and headed back towards the house where everyone was waiting. “Rest. We’ll keep looking while you do.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to sleep,” Luhan grumbled.

Yixing sighed, knowing it was a hopeless battle. With his current state of mind, Luhan wouldn’t be able to sleep. That required shutting off and once he was wound up like this, his brain going off in every possible direction and coming up with every possible scenario of what he could do to find you again, that wasn’t an option. Lying in bed just staring up at the ceiling would do more harm than good.

“How about we compromise?” Yixing offered. “We’ll gather in the library and collaborate on what to do next there. But you have to stay in the chair and not work yourself up, okay? And if your body tells you to go to sleep, you at least try. Got it?”

Luhan didn’t want to agree to the conditions, but it was better than being locked in his room – which was an option he didn’t put passed his old friend.

“Fine,” he mumbled with a sigh just as soon as they reached the others.

Tao smirked, having heard a majority of the conversation. “To the library then?”

Luhan nodded and they headed inside.

Unlike most of the mobster movies he’d seen in his life, Luhan did not have that large, over-the-top library with hundreds of books lining the walls around the room. He had no need for so many novels and he wasn’t interested in the aesthetics of such a room. Really, this place was like a second study, a little bigger than his usual meeting room, but no grander or more luxurious.

They spent about an hour in there, bouncing ideas off each other of what could have made you leave or who might have taken you. Kris checked all his leads in the police stations, but no one had any record of you being picked up or held anywhere in the city. Nor were they able to find any mysterious last minute bookings among the busses or planes going out of the city. Luhan didn’t think you would be dumb enough to use your actual name, especially if you were getting help or forced to leave.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Sir?” Xiaofei peeked his head in cautiously.

Narrowing his eyes, Luhan immediately became the mafia boss he always was before you came into his life. “What is it?”

Still half-hiding behind the door, Xiaofei held up a tan office envelope. “This was dropped off at one of the warehouses thirty minutes ago.”

Tao stomped up to the door, snatched the envelope out of the underling’s hand and slammed the door in his face.

Yixing raised an eyebrow after exchanging a look with the female doctor whose name Luhan had still yet to learn. “Was that entirely necessary?”

“For Xiaofei? Yes.” With his finger, Tao tore open the envelope and slid out a single piece of paper. As he took in the contents of the paper, his face fell from its typical snark into one of distress.

“What?” Luhan tried to get up from the chair, but Kris kept him down with one hand. “What is it?”

Without saying anything, Tao turned the glossy paper around to reveal the picture on the other side.

It was of a person, tied to a chair, their hands behind their back and a blindfold over their eyes. Even with part of their face covered, he knew exactly who was behind held hostage and taunted before him.

“(y/n).”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Things to Look Forward To

Summary:  A series of four missing moments from Forged Through Fire from other points of view to the main ones. They didn’t really fit in the main fic, but I feel they add colour and depth to the side characters and I wanted to write them anyway.

Part one: Chris and Trisha discuss the latter’s pregnancy and Chris reflects on Trisha and Hohenheim’s relationship. Set about two weeks prior to the events of Chapter Six.

Rated: T

Things to Look Forward To

The night was winding down, with most of the regulars having already left the bar and gone to their own homes. At least, Chris hoped that they had homes to go to. There were some people that she saw so regularly in the place that she wasn't entirely sure. Clinic had finished for the night, Trisha coming out from behind the curtain and settling herself on a bar stool whilst Hohenheim took care of the final cleaning up.

"What can I get you, Trish?"

Trisha shook her head. "I'm ok, thanks."

"You sure? Seems like you had a busy night tonight. Miles brought some of that Cretan rosé that you like last time he visited from Briggs on the vodka run. How on earth he got Cretan wine in Briggs is anyone's guess."

"I think Briggs is just an entire microcosm country all of its own." Trisha laughed. "But no. I'd love to, but no."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Something you're not telling me, Trisha? I've never known you turn it down before."

Trisha nodded, and in spite of the tiredness pervading her expression and stance, a warm smile crept over her face.

"Yes. It's still early days yet. Van reckons I'm eight weeks along, so we're going to wait a bit before we make it public. I figure you can keep a secret though."

Chris smiled; if there was one thing that she was good at from her many years in this line of work, it was keeping secrets. She had known for a long time how much Trisha wanted to start a family, and in the bleak times that they were facing, the slightest hint of good news was something to be celebrated. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. We'd intended to wait until we were out of the city, but I guess nature had other ideas. And then again, I don't think Van would stop doing what he's doing unless he had a reason to. Neither would I."

Theirs was an odd little love story. Chris had known Hohenheim for a long time; he had always been a transient figure, flitting in and out of her life as he moved around. She never really knew where he called home, but she knew that he wasn't Amestrian, and that had been avoiding the authorities here long before the current regime had come into power. He had gone out into the east for a few years, nothing out of the ordinary for him, and when he had returned, Trisha had come with him.

Hohenheim was a strange man, one of the most solitary people that Chris had ever known, and she had considered herself privileged to have won his trust. She had known immediately that Trisha had to have been someone remarkable. Over the last few years that she had got to know her, her initial impression had been confirmed. Trisha was kind and caring, just as Hohenheim was, but she had a brightness to her that he had never had. Her optimism was stubborn and unshakeable, but there was nothing naive in it, which made it all the more precious. Trisha knew exactly the circumstances that she was living in and she knew exactly how hard it would be for them to change, but she never lost hope.

The balance of light in the bar changed for a split second as Hohenheim sealed up the room and then came out from behind the curtain, settling on the stool beside Trisha.

"Busy night, huh?"

Hohenheim nodded. "Yes, but at least there weren't any emergencies."

Trisha batted his arm. "Don't tempt fate!"

"Can I get you anything, Hohenheim? Or are you going dry for a while in solidarity?"

Hohenheim looked from Chris to Trisha and back again.

"I might have known that you'd figure it out."

"Alcohol is my life, Hohenheim. I notice when people are in a place they can get it but they don't want it. Congratulations, by the way."

"Yes." Hohenheim smiled, but he looked more nervous than anything.

“Worried?”

Hohenheim just gave her a look. “When am I not worried?”

“That’s very true. But I think you should maybe take a leaf out of Trisha’s book. Try to see the positive in everything.”

“I can see the positive.” His smile became more genuine as he reached across and squeezed Trisha’s hand. “I’m just very good at seeing all the negative as well.”

That was certainly true. Although she knew nothing of his past before she first met him, Chris knew that he must have lived through a lot, and it had all stayed with him. It was only since Trisha had come into the picture that he had really gained any real sense of optimism.

“Still, I think new life should always be celebrated. It might be new life coming into a terrible world, but it’s still a miracle.”

Hohenheim nodded, his mind obviously very far away, and Chris exchanged a look with Trisha.

“Sometimes I wonder just how many voices he’s got in his head.”

Trisha laughed. “I’ve never inquired. Come on, Van. Let’s get home.”

He nodded, coming back to the present, and Trisha leaned in to kiss him. What was intended to be a soft peck became deeper and desperate, and Chris busied herself with polishing glassware to give them some space.

When she glanced back, the passionate moment was over, but they were still pressed in close, foreheads resting together. Chris wanted nothing more than to protect them from the forces outside that were constantly threatening their happiness, but she knew that there was nothing she could do, and she knew, deep down, that they did not need her protection. They weren’t helpless - she’d seen Hohenheim’s alchemy for starters, and although Trisha gave the impression of a waif, she had a core of steel, a small town farm girl coming to the grimy, dangerous city and not only surviving but thriving here.

“Go on,” she said softly. “Be off with you, lovebirds. Make the most of the time you’ve got whilst it’s still just the two of you.”

Trisha smiled. “Thanks, Chris. See you tomorrow.”

They left the bar, Chris watching them go as they passed Roy and Riza in the usual booth.

If any two couples deserved their happy ending, it was those two. If only she could get Roy to get his act together...

[geewithluv]

◁ how they meet ▷

Ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：hyung line x female OC Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ： none Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ：1.5k

ｓｅｏｋｊｉｎ

It wasn’t often that Seokjin ended up at a charity event. He donated quite often but his presence wasn’t required for monetary transactions so why go through the hassle? Something in him told him that he should go to this specific charity event though. There was no real reason why. Seokjin had been donating to this organization for a few years and had never attended one of their events before. Until now, that is.

Business was as usual, he got dressed up real nice, took a couple of promotional pictures was asked a couple of questions about why he showed up without his bandmates, gave the same answer, and waited for the event to begin. Business as usual.

Until it wasn’t.

She walked in and all eyes were on her, at least his were. He wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed the love of his life walk into the room. Her softly curled hair stopped above her shoulders pulled into a half bun with strands perfectly framing her face. A true miracle had to have happened to have them seated at the same table.

“Penelope.” The name planted itself like a seed in his heart.

“Seokjin.” He said after a moment where he had forgotten he was in a conversation.

“I’m familiar with your work.” She laughed gently, a hint of a blush comes across her face. “It’s...” she searches for a word, “excellent. Your voice truly is golden.” He smiles, shaking his head at the compliment.

“What’s your profession?” He asked. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her at one of the music shows or on a billboard.

“I’m a restaurateur. I own a few places here and there.” She answered. The perfect conversation starter, Seokjin mentioned his own restaurant and the two chatted about cooking until conversations turned a little more personal and friendly. By the end of the event, they had donated and gained each other’s phone numbers.

ｙｏｏｎｇｉ

He didn’t want to work with a songwriter. He was fully capable. He knew it, everyone knew it. Even though he was only a couple years into the music industry he was confident he didn’t need some new songwriter to the company to tell him anything. He didn’t want to work with anyone, really. He’s okay with the occasional person that he’s built a bond with. But that’s enough bonding in his studio. He wasn’t quite sure that the agency wasn’t trying to get him to help the new hire instead of the other way around.

“Ah! Suga!” Pdogg waved over at Yoongi as he walked down the hall. A little behind him, Yoongi could see some dark brown waves. “This is our new songwriter and producer, Arabella.” The girl peaked from around the older man.

Okay, so maybe working with a new songwriter won’t be so bad after all.

Yoongi quickly found out she was pretty young. 20 to be exact. But she knew her way around the equipment almost as well as he, 2 years her senior, did.

Is watching a beautiful girl make beats a kink of some sort? Because he was definitely feeling some kinda way watching her eyes narrow slightly as she played around with the tempo and the slight bob of her head as she got everything going the way she wanted.

Even after most people had gone home, Arabella stayed behind working on the song with Yoongi. Even ordering dinner for both of them.

“What made you chose BigHit? Out of all the other companies I’m sure would jump at the opportunity for you on their team?” He asked her while they sat and ate. Her face turns to one of slight confusion.

“You think a lot of companies would want to hire a 20 year old girl?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “I was about to give up, go back to school. I saw the offer and applied thinking just one more. BigHit took a chance when no one else would. They didn’t push me away when they saw my age or what I look like. Any other company that would even think of letting me work there would only hire me as a producer’s personal hooker and I could only hope that I’d be left alone in a studio to do what I love.” She spoke so smooth about such a terrible fact, it left Yoongi a little dazed. As if she were talking about her day at school and not giving him a glimpse of what the industry is like for a young woman.

“I’m glad BigHit took a chance. Because I don’t think I’d finish this song without you.” He spoke honestly. “You’ll have your first credit on a song called Tony Montana.” He chuckled, thinking about how ironic such a ‘cutesy’ looking 20-year-old has made a song named after a fictional murderous drug lord.

“A dream come true.” She laughed along with him and raised her cup of soda in a cheers motion. The start of a beautiful partnership. Both work and personal.

ｈｏｓｅｏｋ

Hoseok spent a good amount of his time looking at people dance. Via Youtube or popping into studios and exhibitions when he could. And a 3AM Youtube rabbit hole is how he found out about Charlotte Graham. She was bright and bubbly but cold and calculated when the song required it. She was talented. So talented. A true performer. Her thick curls and deep skin were enticing but when she moved… when she moved… it was magic. He watched every video of her he could find on Youtube, her Twitter, and her Instagram, before deciding he should go to her studio and meet this magical woman for himself.

Luckily, she was able to give him a time he could stop by and dance with her. The next day. He had messaged at just the right time because a student canceled due to sickness so he fit perfectly in her schedule and she assured him that no one would bother him or take photos.

Respecting his privacy? That’s enough to bring you to crush-level status on its own.

He arrives at 10 AM sharp. After spending about 10 minutes in his car doing some deep breathing and reminding himself that he’s just dancing, simple enough, and he hasn’t actually met the girl yet. Maybe she’s not as wonderful. Highly unlikely, but possible. Managing expectations is something Hoseok hadn’t fully perfected.

But when he does… man, she’s more beautiful in person.

True to her word, no one bothered him. No one was even there. Not even a receptionist. So they spend the next 2 hours together in her studio.

“What made you come here?” She asked about 3 songs in. It was a simple enough question. Her studio was fairly unknown. No celebrities were there getting lessons though Hoseok decided he was definitely going to spread the word about her.

“I saw a video of you. Then I saw a lot more videos.” He twisted the top back on his water bottle. “You’re very talented. Like amazingly talented and I wanted to see for myself.”

“I hope I’ve lived up to your expectations.” She looked down at her shoes, not very used to the compliments.

“You’ve exceeded my expectations.” He said honestly.

ｎａｍｊｏｏｎ

If Namjoon had a free day, you’d probably catch him doing something artsy. Maybe wandering through a park, stopping into a museum, or checking out a nearby art show. That’s what he was doing on this particular day. A grand opening of an up-and-coming artist’s newest collection.

He saw the event was happening by chance. A random advertisement popped up on his computer. The cover painting was intriguing so Namjoon went. No questions asked.

6 paintings were in the room. Each beautiful in their own way. Namjoon was in complete awe. Up-and-coming he remembered the ad had said. But he was sure the work was more worthy than that.

“You like it? You’ve been standing here for a while.” A voice next to him emerged. He looked over to see a bronzed girl with long curls. She was dressed simply. A black turtleneck sweater tucked into black jeans. Her hands clasped behind her back as the observes the painting.

“It’s wonderful. The artist has a true eye for color.” He stumbled a bit, not expecting to be discussing. He mentally face-palmed thinking he had already made a fool of himself in front of such a beautiful person. The woman hums slightly. “I could see this piece in a bigger gallery.” He continues. The woman smiled, closing her eyes briefly.

“Thank you.” She says, hardly glancing at him, keeping her eyes trained on the work. Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow and she laughed lightly. “Joanna Ware.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “I made this piece. Well… all the pieces in here to be exact.” Namjoon perked up and quickly shook her hand.

“Really? Cause I’ve got some questions about this one over here.” He almost ran to the painting. Perfect! He thought to himself. Getting to talk to the artist isn’t a very common occurrence so he was busting at the seems for this opportunity.

“I’ll answer as best I can, especially since you seem very enthusiastic.” She wasn’t used to such an interest in her work, she followed him to her next painting, her glossy pink lips in a smile. “But I’m afraid most of my works come from the heart so not many words can be put to them.” She explained. “That’s how pure emotion works. You can’t describe it. But you feel it so deeply it’s like it speaks a language of its own.” He turned to look at her, something in her eyes and the way she spoke made him feel that pure emotion.

He went home, later on, laughing to himself about how it was fitting that he’d seemingly fallen in love at first sight and of course it was over at an art gallery.

▂▂▂

Thanks for reading!