#-books they had mentioned. i barely remember it so sorry um. ITS KIND OF SAD BUT. SO LOVING IN A WAY TO ME

[vellichorsdesire]

your f/o(s) keeping in mind the most seemingly littlest things you mention just cause you’re that important to them… whenever they see your favorite color, thing or a heavy interest of yours they can’t help but be reminded of you immediately and want you to know about it, telling you immediately the next you meet orr taking a picture and sending it to you. them even trying to understand your interests though they know nothing about it or even if they wouldn’t seem interested about it!!! and then keeping the information they learn from you to use in conversation later on with you again, or even learning more about it when you two are away to surprise you

[somehow-progressing]

WTNV 182 / 132 Connection

So this isn't the first time Cecil's mother and trees have been connected.

In 132, exactly fifty episodes previously, her bedtime story was about a boy who turned into a tree.

I reviewed this episode to look for connections and..

Oh, boy.

So, first off, the boy's interest in science obviously reminded me of Carlos, right? But then the similarities stop there.

And start leading towards Cecil.

(The rest under the cut)

We now know that there was a time where Cecil's father was in the picture, although it may have been when Cecil was very, very young. The family dynamic in 132's story matches his exactly: a mother, a father, a sister, the youngest son.

My first thought was, "Well, this can't be a parallel to Cecil's family. They're far too loving, which doesn't match up with what we know of Cecil's mother at all." But then I looked closer.

The boy's parents are verbally insistent that they love him, to the point where it comes off as "I'm your parent so I have to love you, it's my job to do everything for you." Putting pressure, and a sense of guilt, on the child while never actually living up to their word.

"He knew he would never need his father to give his life for him. He just wanted his father to show concern for his health. He knew he would never need his mother to give away all of her belongings for him. He just wanted his mother to show interest in his curiosity." - 132, Bedtime Story

His parent's love is very idealistic, while not being one that they actually show or.. Possibly, feel. They don't show concern for his health, or value his interests. He's their son, but he's not anything more.

"My mom seems really proud of me too! She hid from me for three days! Like, the longest ever! And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house. I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things… to a… um… to a person." - 33, Cassettes

Cecil's own experiences parallel this. He interprets her love through ideals, to fill the void of it in actuality. When you're a child, you think that a parent is supposed to be loving. They're supposed to care. When they don't, or they leave you alone in your house, or they ignore you, or they tell you not to cry after you've been injured because "you don't even exist," your brain doesn't know how to process it. Like he did with his memory loss in 182, Cecil tries to rationalize it. Mother abandoned me because she's proud, because she cares about me- because she's my mother and she has to.

The boy's relationship with his sister parallels Cecil's as well.

"His sister would tell him, “I hate you, brother.” But their parents would instruct her to be nice and so she would say sarcastically, “I love you, brother. I would climb the tallest mountain for you." - 132, Bedtime Story

"He knew his sister really loved him. He knew he would never need his sister to climb a mountain for him. He just wanted his sister to believe him that mountains were real." - 132, Bedtime Story

As mentioned in Ghost Stories, Cecil has had a very difficult relationship with his sister.

"See, my mother disappeared when I was only 14. Abby had just started school, but she had to drop out to return home and raise me, and I thought that Mom would be back at any moment, like maybe she was away on business. Our out for a walk. Or just hiding.

But Mom did not come back, not for my entire childhood. And I was petulant and subversive, and Abby was reserved and controlling and she blamed me for having dropped out of school and I blamed her for just… not being Mom.

But in our adulthood, my mother did return home, sick and sorry to two children who barely spoke to each other in the morning." - Ghost Stories

Which would match up with the sister's animosity with him.

The difference here is that, out of the entire family, the boy knows that his sister actually loves him. And in Cecil's life, his sister is the only one he has made amends with. No matter how she treated him in the past, they are part of the same family once again. (As of 182, at least.)

Here, a direct parallel to Cecil is established. This boy's life mirrors his own.

Now, here's where it gets interesting.

Just as Cecil enters the tree, the boy is transformed into one

"He spent a lot of time in those next several months watching his family, their grief at his loss. His parents’ happiness at his sister’s education." - 132, Bedtime Story

There has been a lot of theorizing that Cecil's mother may have been covering the mirrors and leaving flowers because she was mourning Cecil, and not just his father.

"What was it your mother said before she left home when you were a teenager? Did she tell you she was an oracle?" - 171, Go to The Mirror?

It's entirely possible that Cecil's mother knew what would happen after she left, or had enough of an idea to subconsciously work it into a bedtime story.

It's possible that this is a glimpse of a timeline where Cecil really didn't survive entering the tree. His parents mourn, and his sister is allowed to pursue the education she wanted.  (Which, in all honesty, a pretty cruel burden to place on Cecil's shoulders. It's not his fault that their mother disappeared, leaving Abby to take care of him.)

Next, we watch the boy slowly lose his humanity as his awareness widens outside of himself.

"Time slowed for him, and his knowledge grew so vast and so expansive, human triumphs and pains became only a small sliver of his interest. There were much larger systems to comprehend than humanity." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil is canonically one of the people in Night Vale that time slowed down for. Like Earl, he has been stuck at a certain age for a long, long time.

"He had forgotten what he used to be." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil has canonically lost large parts of his past. He no longer remembers them.

"Later that spring, the woman and the man and the child brought a picnic and some games, and the tree was happy, but could not comprehend why. Nor did the tree intend to. The tree was simply happy, and this was a feeling that existed. Years later, the family wore black again and cried. And the tree felt sad, but it did not connect this feeling to any kind of narrative. It was simply sad, and this was a feeling that existed." - 132, Bedtime Story

The boy tree is becoming incredibly distanced from his family. (A woman, man, and child, just like Abby, Steve, and Janice.)

"You know, Cecil and I first met at one of these things. Seems like we should have met earlier than that. I had dated his sister for a while. But Cecil’s busy, he- he serves his community. He really gives himself to his community. Who do you live for, you know? Who do you give yourself to? Those are questions we should all be asking ourselves." - Steve in 100, Toast

Steve confirmed that Cecil was distant from his family and the people around him before Carlos came along, burying himself in his job.

And then an angel cuts down the tree.

"Over a few days, the tree and the fruits and the separated stump died. But the tree retained everything. As its body was planted into boards, as its twigs were ground into mulch, the tree felt the knowledge of each seed it had planted across the valley, each creature it had nourished with its fruits, and each piece of lumber built into a home for generations of humans to come.

The tree felt its branches burned in a fireplace, and it rose up as smoke and dissipated into carbon across the sky, coming down in trillions of molecules to build more soil, more trees, more creatures. The boy could truly learn everything now, cell by cell." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil has given himself to his community. This boy, this tree, has been divided and used up as a resource, to serve the community in which he lived. Not to mention the fact that Cassettes Cecil died before becoming the Voice, like this boy/tree was cut down before he could serve/understand his community.

"Cecil, sweet Cecil. Whose life lies directly on the fault lines of this broken reality." - Huntokar in 109, Huntokar

Patching together:

- this quote from Huntokar that gives off the impression of Cecil as the glue keeping the fractures together, and

- the way that Leonard Burton, a deceased Voice, is brought back the moment that Cecil left town, filling the vacant spot, and

- the way that Night Vale fell apart when its citizens rejected their reality, and began to be patched back together along with the narration of their Voice

It all leads to:

The Voice of Night Vale is a significant, needed position.

 It’s possible that he holds the fractured town together, in a way, his words reminding the citizens to keep their will and hold onto what is in front of them. (In the case that the cold light is the Smiling God, this gives it a motive. If it takes out Cecil, the town is left vulnerable for it to devour.)

Just like the tree, Cecil is used by his town.

His mother knew that he would become the Voice one day- it was prophesized. That’s the reason he was given the tape recorder, that’s the reason she told this story.

We still don’t know what was in the book in the table.

Then, this very interesting quote from 182:

“I’ve been in this job for a long time. Probably longer than I’ve been alive. I mean: you’ve been alive.”

He says the truth for a moment, then backs up because that doesn’t make sense to him. Coupled the way his mother’s story parallels Cecil’s, with boy becoming the tree, becoming a resource that serves the town and seeing all of it (similar to how Cecil knows what’s happening in the town and what its citizens are thinking without leaving his studio. See: every traffic report and episodes likes A Story About Them.) and Cecil mentioning the odd nature of his job in 182..

I think we’re about to learn exactly what it means to be the Voice.

[fanartfunart]

Fly Away

Episode 4: Bibliotech

Ao3 - First - 2 - 3

(Féline Sombre & Paon Lilas designs)

Summery: An AU where Adrien never went to in-person school, not getting the cat miraculous, and found the peacock miraculous. -Adrien sets out to find the Grimoire, and Alya volunteers her investigative skills, interviewing her classmates. Until a librarian gets akumatized and traps them all in a maze of books.

(tw for sickness. very vauge. Much like canon)

-

Alya hummed along to her CD of Nino’s music, ignoring the sounds of siblingly chaos outside her room. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at the text.

Double A: “Hi, you’re the local superhero expert, right?”

She chuckled at Adrien’s question and texted back, “The one and only! Why? Whatcha wondering about?”

“I’m looking for a specific book, actually? An older one about superheros, with lots of different kinds. Seen it anywhere?”

She tilted her head “Just the one you said Chloé took from your dad’s???”

Adrien spent a long time typing only for his reply to read “Oh. Of course, thank you.”

Alya frowned and called him. Adrien picked up with a delay, piano music playing in the background. His voice was hushed “Hi, uh, why are you calling me?”

“What’s going on? Did you not know what kind of book Chloé, or I guess your dad, had?”

“Oh...oh um. No, no I did. Of course I knew what kind of book it was, that’s why I was asking about it. Because it’s lost and I wanted to find it, for my dad,” Adrien chuckled awkwardly.

“Why are you whispering? Are you at a concert?”

“Oh... no I’m supposed to be practicing piano right now...”

“Oh so you’re playing a recording? Huh. Smart.” Alya got up and grabbed her shoes. “Want me to ask around for your book then? It’s kinda my thing. Plus, Chloé never let me get close enough to look at it.”

“You’d do that?” Adrien whispered softly.

“Yeah boy! Don’t worry about it. If Chloé lost it during or before the Collector situation then it’s probably not too far from the school’s social circle.”

“Wow great! Oh whoops- I gotta get back to my practice, Natalie’s coming- so uh... goodbye!”

Alya chuckled “Bye Adrien.” They hung up and Alya got ready for her interrogations.

-

The majority of the students Alya could easily get a hold of knew nothing about where it went. So her only leads were Chloé and Sabrina. They had the same story: Marinette and Lila were the last two people they saw besides each other when the book disappeared.

She met with Lila at the library, Marinette scheduled to meet her not too long after.

Lila was looking at the mystery section when Alya waved her over. "Thank you for meeting with me."

She nodded with a smile, putting down her murder mystery novel, "Of course, what did you need?"

Alya got out her notepad, pen at the ready. "Are you aware that the book Chloé brought to class is missing?"

"It is? Oh no, I didn't. Are you looking for it for her?"

"Not exactly," Alya scribbled down a note. "For its original owner, not Chloé. But! Do you mind describing where you saw it last?"

Lila hummed and shook her head, "I'm sorry, I just remember Chloé showing it to me before she fell and ran off. I thought she had it. Sabrina seemed to really want to leave though."

"I already got Sabrina and Chloé's statements… Marinette was with you, right?"

"Oh! Yes, she was. If you want I can talk to her for you?"

"That's okay," Alya said, "I've already arranged for her to give me her story next. I'm just covering my bases."

Lila hummed and nodded, "If you don't mind my curiosity, who's the original owner?"

"Oh, the Aggrestes," Alya said, "Adrien asked me to help."

Lila raised a brow, "Adrien? He's the one whose face is plastered practically all across Paris, yes?"

Alya chuckled and nodded, "Yeah, I guess he's a little famous. He's pretty cool. He almost was gonna be in our class, actually. He would've transferred in just before you," she shrugged, "Guess his dad changed his mind."

Lila tapped her fingers across the mystery novel's cover and smiled, "Well, I don't have much else for you. Hope you find it for him. It seemed like a special book." Lila stood up, and they waved goodbye.

-

Adrien quietly walked up to the librarian. He smiled, “Hi.”

The librarian looked up with a barely suppressed annoyance, “Hello. How can I help you?”

"I was looking for books related to superheroes?"

He sighed, "Right there. Very popular lately." He pointed lazily and returned his gaze to his computer.

“Oh, thank you!” Adrien followed his direction towards a section that seemed to be dedicated to Féline Sombre and Ladybug. Decorated with red and black spots and green cat paw paper crafts. It was small, secluded. Creating a comfortable nook.

"Come on out, Duusu," Adrien whispered. The kwami zipped out and fluffed his feathers, tilting his head. "Any books you recognize?" Duusu hummed and flitted between the shelves of books. Adrien skimmed through the titles. (How did people get the rights to publish fiction works about the heroes? …Do Ladybug and Féline Sombre get royalties?) He tilted his head at a title "A History of Heroics: the Lesser Known Origins of Paris’s Superheroes"

Duusu came back and hovered in front of him, "Nope, nothing.”

Adrien huffed a sigh, "Well this is the last library nearby I can think of. It's got to be in somebody's private collection then, Duusu." 

Duusu's head drooped, overcome with a quiet sadness. He glanced up, seeing something behind Adrien. He gasped and hid. Adrien spun on his heel. Natalie stood there, hands behind her back.

"You abandoned your piano practice and missed a photoshoot," she said, "I'm glad you're…" she looked around at the shelves, raising a brow, "taking initiative... in your learning, but you can't just abandon your responsibilities."

He nodded, hanging his head. "I- you're right, sorry..."

She glanced down at him and sighed. Her tone softened, "Go finish up and check out your books, we will wait for you outside in the car."

He looked back up with a smile, "Oh, thanks, I'll uh-" He glanced down at the book he was caught holding. Apparently he was into history today... "I'll go check this out…"

-

Lila waited at the doorway, much to the annoyance of the terse librarian. She ignored him. 

Marinette stumbled through the doors, carrying a box of pastries. Clearly buttering up Alya to make her believe whatever lie she came up with. Lila rolled her eyes at such amateur tactics.

She sashayed towards Marinette, "Hi Marinette, how are you today?"

"Lila! Good, good, how are you?" She smiled brightly and opened the box of macaroons, "Want some? I mentioned I was visiting a friend and we had some leftovers, so my dad kinda pushed them on me."

"No, thank you. I'm just fine. But Alya was asking about that book you borrowed from Chloé. ...I'd be careful if I were you, I wouldn't want it all pinned on you. Who knows what Chloé's reaction would be."

Marinette tilted her head “She was? Why should I-”

”Well you had it last... But I know, you're so sweet, you could never steal, could you?" she smiled, grin sharp and fox-like. "Although… you’ve had ample time to return it... actually, I just remembered something... I should go tell Alya-"

"Wha- no no, I didn't steal it! It's fine, I can explain everything to Alya!" Marinette waved her hands frantically.

"Hm. You still have it right?"

"Er… No...I uh, returned it.... To the… library."

"Well should be easy to find again then," She waved a hand to the library's bookshelves, "I'd love to see it again. I'll make sure Chloé never hears who had it, if you give it to me."

"What? Why do you want it?"

"I want to return it to its original owner, that's all," she said, pressing a hand gingerly against her chest, "and do you really trust Alya to be quiet about it? She's all about truth and justice..."

Marinette frowned, folding her arms, "Alya’s more trustworthy than you, that's for sure… Whatever plan you have, I'm not going to be part of it." 

The librarian abandoned his post, frowning, "Excuse me, what's going on here?"

Lila gave a pitifully sad look to the librarian, "She stole a book from one of my friends and won't return it! She loved that book and-"

Marinette sputtered. "What, I didn't steal-" The librarian raised a hand to stop them both.

"You'd make a very good actor. But, you're a tad over dramatic, young lady. I overheard your conversation. Your earlier tone clearly indicated elements of blackmail."

"Wh- well...well," Lila looked around, at a loss for how to lie her way out of this. Her hands balled into fists, "Well, you're just a dumb book scanner. You don't know what you're talking about," she said, "Stay out of it!"

He balked and his expression hardened, "Out."

She gasped, "What? This is a public library-"

"Yet, this dumb book scanner is telling you to get. Out. You blackmailed another patron and then tried to lie to me," he pointed to the doors, pen in hand. "So, I'd rather not repeat myself a third time."

Lila stomped out. Adrien tilted his head as he walked towards the counter, seeing Marinette watching the sceene. “Marinette?” She turned to look at him, raising a brow.

“Wha- Adrien? What are you doing here?”

A purple butterfly landed on the librarian's pen.

"Bibliotech, I am Hawkmoth. One too many people have dismissed and belittled you. I can give you the power to make sure everyone listens to you. You'll be the smartest person in the room at all times. In return, all I ask is for Ladybug, Féline Sombre, and Paon Lilas' Miraculous."

The librarian narrowed his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and grinned, "They'll all regret underestimating me." His glasses were now a glowing visor, his pen had seemed to have morphed into a staff. He twirled the staff in a motion that made a red “P” in the air.

“Marinette!” Adrien pointed, and ran towards her. Marinette turned and gasped as the window crashed as the pen-staff was thrown towards Lila’s receding figure. Lila disappeared as the pen touched her. Bibliotech summoned the staff back to himself, a meter on the pen filling slightly. He turned towards Marinette and Adrien.

"You seem like smart kids," he said, which didn't sound especially good to be in this context, "I hope you're ready for the test. Unfortunately, I don't have a number 2 pencil for you to borrow!"

He twirled his staff-pen and was about to hit Marinette with it, but Adrien shoved her to the floor. He stared at her for a moment. “You okay?”

She nodded and scrambled up. “Run!” She directed, pointing somewhere for Adrien to go while she ran into another opposite direction.

Adrien took the opportunity to dive behind the library counter. “Duusu, spread my feathers!”

"Akuma! Evacuate the Library!" Marinette yelled. She glanced down each row of books for a hiding spot to transform.... Come on, why does every row of books have at least one person in it?!

Alya stood up as Marinette ran toward her, "Marinette?! Akuma? Where!?" She started getting out her phone.

"Do not go toward the angry supervillain, please!" Marinette exclaimed, pushing Alya in the opposite direction.

Paon Lilas crashed into a bookshelf nearby, chuckling awkwardly. “Hi girls. Don’t mind me.” He stood back up, wobbily, as Bibliotech and a pair of people with a red “F” on their chests walked forward, expressions frighteningly vacant.

“You deserve a bad grade for your attitude!” Bibliotech called.

“My attitude? Who are you, my father?” Paon Lilas snarked back, running back towards him.

“No, I’m Bibliotech,” he said, matter of factually. He side stepped Paon Lilas’s attack and the minions grabbed the superhero.

He hummed, "I don't want to make it easy for you," Bibliotech drew the shorthand for “revise” and tapped a book shelf. The shelves bended and twisted into a maze-like structure. Blocking off Marinette and Alya together, and Paon Lilas with the villains.

"Nonono nooo," Marinette cried.

"If you can escape this I'll let you pass automatically!" Bibliotech's voice echoed. "Trust me, you'll need to pass this test."

"Ugh, we're not gonna be able to see the fight from here…" Alya turned towards Marinette,  "Come on, we gotta stick together if we wanna get out of here. Two minds are better than one, girl. I'm sure the superheroes will have it handled in no time!"

Marinette sighed. "Let's just hope they can find their way through this…"

-

Féline Sombre called Ladybug again, and huffed as it continued to not go through. She really hoped she hadn't been caught by Bibliotech. They landed outside the library and looked around. It was eerily quiet. She cautiously walked in.

"Hello Féline Sombre. I'll give you one chance to do this easily." Bibliotech sat on the top of one of the book shelves, legs crossed, "Hand me that ring, please."

"I appreciate the please, not so much the everything else," Féline Sombre said, and extended her staff to knock him down towards her. 

He blocked it with his own staff, and dropped to the ground, twirling it. "I hope you're ready to pay your late fees then."

Féline Sombre narrowly avoided being tapped with his staff and giggled nervously. "Do cats get late fee exemptions?"

"No," he said bluntly, twirling his staff and using the back half of it to throw her off balance. They grabbed onto their staff and extended it, twirling on the bar and leaping down to kick him back.

She tumbled and turned around, only for the man to have disappeared. They sighed, “Ladybug better get here fast.”

-

Paon Lilas threw off the other mindless drone and kicked the bookshelf. He stumbled backwards, barely avoiding the avalanche of books, vision blooming with spots. The akuma’s minions didn’t move after he was out of their grip. “Wow, is that what a failing grade does to you? He made them real dunces.... Oo, Dunce caps. That’s what I’m calling them now.”

He frowned at the rows of books and braced a hand against the wall to keep his balance. Someone nearby was very frustrated. He turned to follow it. It was probably Bibliotech.

-

Marinette anxiously tried to find somewhere to lose Alya. She took unexpected turns and ran ahead, but no. Alya just turned right with her, despite the fact that she was also recording everything. 

"It seems Bibliotech basically gave the building a revision, like a teacher might to a student's essay." Alya narrated, "He's also making this maze really hard… Marinette no, we went that way before!"

Marinette groaned in exasperation, "Shouldn't we… split up to cover more ground?"

"I'd suggest against it," A calm, overly gentle, masculine voice said, "Besides, I’m here to help now." 

Marinette froze. Please no, please no not him. Couldn’t Féline Sombre have come to save them before him? She turned around and frowned at Paon Lilas. He smiled (annoyingly) at her.

"How did you find us?" Marinette cried, throwing up her hands.

"I followed the feelings of frustration,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Anyway, we should get you out of here-”

“You’re not going to help Ladybug and Féline Sombre with Bibliotech?” Marinette said, folding her arms.

He shrugged, “Can’t be much help if I can’t find any of them, can I?” he offered a hand, "Paon Lilas, if you haven't heard of me yet." 

"Alya, creator of the Ladyblog. I’ve definitely heard of you," Alya accepted the hand and instead of shaking it, he leaned down to kiss her hand. Marinette pointedly did not give him her hand or a name.

"So, you mentioned you followed our feelings- Can you tell who the emotions are connected to?" Alya aimed her phone camera at Paon Lilas, obviously preparing to interview him. Paon Lilas waved for them to follow him and started walking. Alya followed.

"Er, stronger emotions are easier to find, and akuma victims are usually really really strong… So, I can make a good guess? Uh... a few people are… loud? Emotionally. Right now, though." He seemed to wince, minutely. It was covered with a smile. He shrugged, "It's making it a little hard to isolate Bibliotech."

Marinette frowned and turned down a random turn the rest of the group had walked past. Paon Lilas turned around, "Mar- er, Miss, where are you going?"

Marinette groaned in frustration and smiled sharply at him, "Sorry, got excited."

He giggled, a strange (condescending?? No… fond?!?) smile on his lips. "I noticed. Do you need me to hold your hand? ...To keep you from running down every turn out of excitement?"

"Nope! Nope. I'm good." She stuffed her hands in her pockets and glared forward. Alya mercifully was too distracted by Paon Lilas to comment.

Féline Sombre ran past, then skidded to a halt and returned to the group. “Birdy! Seen Ladybug?”

“Nope, no Buggaboo yet. Nice of you to join us though, Kitten.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at the nickname. Buggaboo? Really?

Féline Sombre frowned, “Okay.... We need a way to work through this maze to get to the Akuma and make sure Ladybug can find us...”

"We could help!” Alya said, “Marinette and I could make a book trail.”

“If you do that, I could probably more easily use my powers to track down Bibliotech’s emotions.”

"What?" Marinette squeaked, "Surely they can do that themselves. How about we… find a good place to hide while they do that!?"

Paon Lilas frowned and glanced at the group. He gently pulled Marinette off to the side.

"You're nervous and frustrated... Do you really want to stay here? Wait until Ladybug captures the akuma?"

Marinette glanced around. Easy out. She nodded. "Sure, you go ahead and I'll stay right here!"

"I could give you a sentimonster to protect you, and your friend Alya, if she wants to stay too. Then Féline and I can just go find Bibliotech."

"Oh you uh, you don't need to do that. I'm fine staying here alone!"

"I want to," he smiled, "I want to help. Trust me."

Marinette frowned and nodded, "Fine…"

He fumbled forward without warning, eyes widening. He quickly straightened himself out and took a deep breath. He smiled again, like the moment never happened. He plucked a feather from his fan and imbued it with power, blowing it towards Marinette in away absurdly close to blowing a kiss. The feather fluttered into Marinette's purse and the twin masks of light appeared on their faces.

"If you need anything just tell me," he said, "I can hear it, no matter how far." He winked and the light faded. 

A fluffy, black and white dog with a pink floral pattern on its forehead and paws, sat next to Marinette. 

Paon Lilas turned towards Alya and Féline Sombre. "Marinette's staying here with senti-pup. Alya, what do you want to do?"

"I'm going with you, I wanna record this!"

Féline humed, "Okay but you need to keep out of the way… I still have no idea what the Akuma is in so-"

"The pen" Paon Lilas said, “The akuma’s in the pen.”

Marinette blinked, “How did you know that?”

He chuckled awkwardly, “I- er, call it intuition.”

“Huh. Great. Cool, go save the day!” Marinette pushed Paon Lilas away, as senti dog barked at the rest of them, herding them like a sheepdog. 

With the group finally gone, she ran down the corner a little farther and sighed as Tiki zipped out.

"I love Alya but seriously, I could've been helping Féline Sombre already."

Tiki giggled, "What are we doing with your new buddy?" 

"Oh. Right. Uh…" She took off her purse so it wouldn't disappear in her transformation. "There, let's go. Tiki! Spots on!" 

She picked up her purse and made a hush motion to the dog, who wagged its tail.

-

They followed Paon Lilas's lead Alya trailing behind putting down books to keep them on track. The strongest emotions led them into what must be the center of the library maze. Surrounded by Dunce Caps. 

Ladybug ran in behind them, Marinette's Sentidog at her heels. 

"Ladybug?" Paon Lilas frowned at her, "Why do you have Marinette's purse?"

"She, uh, gave it to me, I led her out of the building and she didn't want your amok to go to waste."

He sighed, "So brave," under his breath. He shook his head. “Let's get this over with...”

Ladybug caught his arm before he could jump into fray. "We've gotta be smart about this, this whole thing is a test, right?"

He glared at her hand on his arm and pulled away. "Fine, what is your plan, M’lady?"

She huffed and then glanced at Sentidog and Alya’s phone. "Okay, Alya, I need your phone for a second. Mind pulling up a recording?"

Alya nodded and handed her the phone. Ladybug handed it to Sentidog who bounded off, as the audio began playing. The Dunce Caps turned and followed the noise, leaving the entry unprotected.

The group walked up to it. Paon Lilas tried the door and frowned. "Locked."

"It's a puzzle," Féline Sombre said, pointing to the books above the doorway. She extended her staff to allow her to reach, and began rearranging the books. 

"They're all classics, but," they clicked them into place, "They were out of order.”

The door opened. Paon Lilas raised a brow, "How… do you know the library’s organization system?"

Féline Sombre looked confused, "You don't?"

The group walked in, and Sentidog returned, no longer holding the phone, clearly having dropped it somewhere. (Alya meanwhile got out her tablet to record instead.)

Bibliotech sat on a floating platform of books. “Took you less time than I thought it would... Are you cheating?” He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter, once I deal with you, I won’t have anything else in my way.”

Bibliotech flourished his pen in an P motion and moved to tap Ladybug with it. Paon Lilas jumped in front of her, taking the hit. He disappeared. The staff returned to Bibliotech’s hands.

Ladybug gasped. "Why did he do that? Ugh! Stupid bird- Lucky Charm!" A box fell into her hands.

Bibliotech focused on Ladybug. She used her yoyo as a shield on each hit, searching for how to use the cardboard box.

Féline Sombre extended her staff to meet Bibliotech, landing a solid kick. Bibliotech wrote another Revise note and created another platform for him to jump onto, away from Féline. The red meter went down. 

"It's an ink pen." Ladybug whispered, "Féline, destroy the platform!"

"No problem, Bug! Cataclysm!" Féline Sombre touched Bibliotech’s platform, and he grabbed their hand. They yelped and stumbled to remain precariously on the platform. Ladybug whistled and Sentidog ran up and grabbed Féline Sombre’s leg. She shifted to a less unsteady part of the platform, trying to shake off Bibliotech’s grasp on her arm. He readied his pen.

"You forgot the lid!" Ladybug said, and threw the cardboard box up. Féline Sombre grabbed it with their free hand, and caught the tip of the pen from Bibliotech’s attack.

Bibliotech tried to pull back, but the Sentidog grabbed Bibliotech's staff, growling.  Ladybug tied Bibliotech's arms in her yoyo and sentidog pulled the staff away and raced down the platforms. Féline shifted to keep a hold of Bibliotech.

Ladybug caught the dog as it jumped into her arms, giggling, "Good puppy."

It dropped the pen and she snapped it in half.

The butterfly fluttered out and the book platforms began to crumble. Féline grabbed Bibliotech and extended their staff to catch their fall, sliding down.

Ladybug caught the Akuma and threw the cardboard box in the air. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

Paon Lilas and the rest of the people reappeared. Paon instantly doubled over and coughed. His miraculous beeping.

Féline Sombre ran over to him, "Are you okay?"

He groaned, but nodded anyway. "Fine…Ya know, I was going for knocking the pen off-course but, taking the hit works too, I guess." He stumbled to a wobbling stand. Ladybug walked up to him, the sentidog on her heels. He ran.

"Wait!" Ladybug called. He turned a corner. She tried to follow him, but the aisle of books was empty. He was gone.

A mask of light appeared on her face. “Hey, Marinette. Hope you’re okay. They purified the akuma. I’m uh, pulling the amok, make sure to get your purse back from Ladybug. Sorry-” The mask disappeared, presumably because he had detransformed.

Sentidog was gone when Ladybug returned. She sighed. She was kinda going to miss that dog. Ladybug went to go help the librarian before her transformation dropped. 

-

Adrien barely caught Duusu as the kwami tumbled out of the brooch, exhausted. He pressed himself flat against the bookshelf, taking deep breaths between bouts of coughing. Pulling out the mango chips for the kwami, he groaned and slid to the floor.

He didn't know how long he sat there. Next thing he knew, Marinette was crouched next to him. Her hand on his shoulder, gentle. "Hey, hey, are you okay?"

He looked up, "Uh… No." He glanced back at the ground, his mind going back to his mother. Her illness. Her unsteadiness and coughs. He felt tears well up in his eyes. "I don't think so."

[fallingfor-fics]

Teachers Pet-chapter 33: Remus

All chapters 

Chapter 32

I had been letting myself sleep in as long as possible not only for the rest, but to help pass the time. I usually woke up around ten sometimes eleven depending on how late I had stayed up, but today my brain had other plans. I wake awake bright and early at five o'clock. I had only just gone to bed four hours ago so I figured I would be sleeping till noon, but unfortunately I was woken up by a dream. Most would call it a dream, but I called it a nightmare. 

Because it was  a dream about me being married with kids, except I was married to Severus, not that I hate the idea, I just didn't need to be reminded of how that's never gonna happen. And of course my body loves to do this thing where once I'm awake, I can't go back to sleep. So I decided to just get up now and start my day early. I took my time showering, I even did a hair and a face mask, shaved, and styled my hair without magic, just to pass the time. I took my time figuring out what to wear and I even did eye shadow with my makeup. I brushed out my shirt adding a belt to my waist and looked out the window. The sun had started to rise and peak over the forest line. I looked at the clock and dropped my shoulders when I saw it was only six. "You have got to be kidding me, no way I did all of that in an hour." I said to myself. I was glad all my roommates went home for break, this allowed me some freedom to talk to myself and walk around in my underwear. I grabbed my coat, wand, and Lolita and headed out to walk around. I didn't really have a plan on where I was going to go, but i'd figure it out as I went.

I exited my dormitory and walked into the common room, I hadn't seen many Slytherins that stayed but every now and then we would cross paths in here. I walked out and down the hall not seeing anyone in the halls. It was kind of eerie being awake while the sun was just starting to rise, the school was so empty and quiet. I looked out a window as I passed by and saw the sunrise glistening over the lake, light hitting the water and the surrounding snow. I smiled at the sight and made my way outside. The snow crunched under my boots as I walked over to a bench that sat along the pathway. I sat down on it looking at the lake that was sparkling from the sun's reflection. A cloud of air could be seen every time I breathed out and I could feel my nose getting red. I really loved when it was cold out and there was snow on the ground, I wouldn't have come out here if it was snowing though that would mean it was too cold to come and read. And I could feel the warmth of the sun slowly stretching across my face and hands, spreading warmth on my cheeks. It was so beautiful I couldn't believe I went to school here. I barely even thought of Beauxbatons anymore. I smiled and opened up my book, unfolding the corner as I began to read.

About thirty minutes later I lifted my head from the book, hearing a noise, I looked to my left and saw the noise was the crunching of the snow under the new professor's feet. "Hello." I said smiling as he walked over, hands in his pockets, "Hello Y/n what are you doing out here this early?" he smiled looking out at the lake. "I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep so I came out here to read." I said scooching over so he could sit next to me. He smiled and sat down on the bench. "What about you?" I asked as I looked back to my book. "Oh just an early morning walk. I also could not sleep." I nodded and folded the corner of my page closing my book, "What are you reading?" he asked motioning to my book, I felt my cheeks redden a bit and looked at him and then back at my book. "Um this book called Lolita." I said smiling awkwardly. He hummed in response nodding his head with a smile. "Have you read it?" I asked, nervous of his response, I don't know why I was freaking out I mean there are so many books Im sure no one has actually read this, and even if they have its not like I support every decision made in it, but it is a bit awkward.  "No, I've just heard  of it." he smiled. We sat for a moment in silence, "So I hear you're a werewolf." I said chuckling lightly at the silly statement I made. He tensed up and bit and looked down at me, "And what leads you to think that." he asked in a bit more of a serious tone, but with a small smile. "Oh nothing just rumours, i'm only teasing." I said playfully, resting a hand on his arm in reassurance, he laughed along shifting in his spot. "Unless you are one, if that's the case then you are indeed way cooler than the last teacher." I joked, he reddened in the face a bit and smiled, "I can assure you I do not grow a tail." he assured me, laughing along. We sat and got to know each other more, he was a really sweet man and I could easily see myself being friends with him. We oddly had a lot in common too, we liked the same artists and movies, he even mentioned how he himself was not too potion savvy. We joked about many failed experiences in the subject.

"So If you went to school here, does that mean you went here with Severus? I mean Professor Snape." I said, shaking my head correcting myself. He sat up straight for a moment and looked out at the lake, he sighed and nodded his head. "Yes I did actually, we were in the same grade." he said, his face softening and his smile slowly fading a bit. I noticed the change in posture and tone and looked at him confused.  "Well what was he like? Was he mean like he is now? Did he bully you?" I asked trying to figure out why his energy shifted. He took a moment and cleared his throat. "No, not exactly." I kept my gaze on him, examining his facial expressions. "Did you guys fight or something?" I pried. "Yes you could say that, I had a group of friends, and two of us Sirius and James liked to pick on him often, I would try to convince them to leave Severus alone, but they'd never listen." he said leaning over and resting his elbow on his knees. Taken aback I looked away from him and to the lake. "That's horrible, what would they do to him?" I asked curiously. He took a moment pondering on what to say, "They would pick on him for being in Slytherin and would call him names and such." he confessed. I frowned and looked down at my hands. "Oh." I said quietly. "But Severus was a loner and he wasn't perfect either, but it's really not my place. James never really gave him a chance though, he bullied him from the start and would do it for fun and out of boredom sometimes." he added. I nodded and looked around at the snowy landscape thinking about it.

This would make a lot of sense as to why Severus was so cruel, he clearly had a hard life. It hurt my heart to think about him just trying to go about his day and some obnoxious boys decide to hurt him. I could almost cry at the thought and blinked hard to try and erase the thoughts from my mind. "But what did Snape ever do to them?" I asked, already predicting the answer. "Nothing. He was just a wallflower, associated himself with the dark arts and the wrong people and James saw him as an easy target." he admitted looking down at his feet. "Did they ever apologize? Or befriend him?" I also already knew this answer, "No, James died and Sirius was locked up." he said sadly, I rested a hand on his leg and smiled, "I'm sorry, even though they were bullies, I'm sure they were good friends of yours." I said kindly, "Thank you, they were, but i'm not sure if they would have even attempted to make amends, nor do I think Severus would have any interest in doing so either."  he said honestly, "Is Sirius still in Azkaban?" I asked, hoping I wasn't overstepping, I noticed a shift in his eyes when I mentioned the man's name. "No he got out a few years ago and is living in London." he said smiling. I could see a look in his eyes, I searched the blue spheres and tried to identify the look, "Does he have a family?" I asked trying to talk about him more, "No not really. I'm kind of all he's got left." his eyes flashed with a bit of sadness but stayed sparkling on the thought of the man, I smiled to myself when I realized why I recognized the look in his eyes. It was because it was the very same look I had when thinking about Severus. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to make him uncomfortable so I just nodded in response.

I looked at his hand and noticed he didn't have a ring on his finger and looked up at him trying to figure out why he wasn't married. He was so nice and funny and handsome something didn't add up. "Why aren't you married? I mean a handsome man such as yourself you would think would have a partner and kids and stuff." I questioned cautiously, trying not to overstep. He laughed and blushed a bit, sitting up and leaning back on the bench, "I'm not sure, I just haven't met the right person I suppose." I nodded in agreement and just then I spotted a few students walking around inside. "I guess everyone's waking up, breakfast will start soon, wanna walk with me?" I asked politely, standing up and grabbing my book. He nodded and stood up as well, following beside me as we walked back inside the warm building and headed to the great hall. "So why are you here now? Why didn't you come when everyone else comes back from break?" I asked as we walked through the halls. "I guess I just wanted to get my room in order and hang out a bit in the school, it's a very nostalgic feeling, being back." he shared as we walked into the Great hall. We stopped at the staff table to finish up our conversation, I looked up behind him and noticed a dark professor glaring down at us, I furrowed my brows slightly, wondering why he would be so upset about this, but then I remembered what Remus had said, and although Remus maybe didn't participate he was still a bystander, and i'm sure Severus still held that against him, I smiled a little to myself thinking about how I could use this to my advantage. "Okay well I will catch you later at the firework show, it was lovely getting to know you and talk." I said smiling up at Remus, I kindly rested a hand on his arm and looked over to the now tense and fuming Severus, I could practically almost see the steam coming off of him, to anyone else he would look normal, but I could see it in his eyes, and his place fist he had clenched. I didn't understand why he was getting so angry with me fraternizing with Remus, he said so himself he didn't care about me that way.

When I looked back at Remus as he said his goodbye I could have sworn I felt a tug in my mind, a very familiar tug, like someone trying to pry their way in. Remus walked away and up to his seat, which was thankfully far from Severus, and I shot Snape a glare, I knew he was the only one that would be remotely interested in my thoughts and the look in his eyes only confirmed my suspicions. Two can play at this game I thought to myself as I slowly went and sat down where Luna and I had sat yesterday. I wasn't as good as him obviously and had just barely learned how to read thoughts without my wand. But I stared him down trying to get into his mind, it wasn't about reading his thoughts, it was more about making him aware he got sloppy and wasn't undetected in his attempt to read mine, I just needed to ensure he felt it. Which he confirmed when his eyes went from anger to hostility and then back to anger. I stopped my attempts and he glowered at me, I smiled and waved sarcastically and turned to the blonde girl that approached me and sat down. "Having a staring contest with Professor Snape or something?" she said, teasing me a bit. "What? No. I was just waving to the new teacher, I haven't got a clue why Snapes glaring over at me." I lied, which I felt bad doing, but Hermione and Draco were the only ones that knew of my feelings for Snape and I planned on keeping it that way.

Taglist; @lovelyhoneylemon @juliijah

[laurawritesandgames]

Title: Objections

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara, Charles/Delia

Prompt: Wedding

Content Warning: Set during coronavirus pandemic

Summary: It’s Delia and Charles’s wedding day. The Maitland-Deetz household tries to keep their irreverent demon from spoiling the big day. Little do they know it’s not Beetlejuice they need to worry about….

It had taken ten minutes, but Barbara was finally satisfied with Delia’s lashes. “There. I think we’ve got it.” She moved aside to let Delia see herself in the mirror.

Barbara had put her hair and makeup skills to the test and helped Delia out on her wedding day. Why invite over a makeup artist and hair stylist during a pandemic if you didn’t have to?

Delia examined her reflection and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

That was being kind. It wasn’t exactly one of the dramatic looks on Delia’s wedding Pinterest board. More dramatic makeup would’ve suited her dress better. Ordered from Italy, her dress was a gold ballgown with dramatic tiered tulle flounces on the skirt and a deep V neckline. The gold in the dress played off the gold accents in Delia’s bright orange hair, which was in romantic waves down her back. It was daring and sweet all at once.

When the pandemic hit, the household had talked about postponing her and Charles’s wedding. But Charles’s parents were old-fashioned, and since Delia and Charles wanted to try for a baby right away, they decided to have a virtual wedding instead.

“I can’t thank you enough, Barbara.”

“I’m not letting you do your own hair and makeup on your big day!” She gestured to the laptop. “Now go show the girls.” Her bridesmaids were eagerly awaiting drinking mimosas and celebrating Delia’s look. Barbara had met them at Delia’s virtual bachelorette party, though, of course, they hadn’t known Barbara was there. The bachelorette party had also been rather subdued, considering Delia’s usual standards. She, Barbara and the bridesmaids had streamed both Magic Mike movies, ate popcorn and drank champagne. What else could you do in a pandemic? “I’ll go check on the preparations.”

Delia’s phone, face down on the makeup table, buzzed again. Someone had been texting her all morning, and Delia had been ignoring them. Her gaze flicked to the phone, jaw tightening before she looked back into the mirror.

Barbara gestured to the phone. “I can grab that for you, too.”

A hint of a frown worked its way between Delia’s brows. A moment later, her expression relaxed, and she waved the suggestion away. “I’m fine, darling. I’ve been getting so many robotexts lately. You know, you could stay and have a drink. You’re a bridesmaid too, dear!”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I like keeping busy!” And if I bump something or the camera catches me drinking a mimosa, the focus is definitely not going to be on the bride. Barbara excused herself and went downstairs.

The walls of the living/dining room were decorated with curled gold ribbons and champagne-coloured tulle banners beneath the crown molding. The ghosts and Beetlejuice had moved all the furniture—quite easily, with telekinesis—and added two rows of four chairs on either side of an elegant pale gray runner. The rug led the eye to the laptop, set up on a crystal-laden table where the officiant would’ve stood, and the pale-wood wedding arch wrapped in the same champagne tulle. Everything looked perfect.

Adam, Beetlejuice, and Lydia, the family’s impromptu wedding photographer/videographer, were gathered around a photo album. It took Barbara a second to recognize it.

“Aww, our wedding album!” She joined the group, resting her head on Adam’s shoulder. He kissed her temple, pulling her closer with both arms. The book continued floating in mid-air.

“Obsessed with sunflowers much?” grumbled an unimpressed Beetlejuice.

“I guess so,” Adam said. “My family’s farm had a little sunflower patch. That kinda became our thing.”

“Love the mason jars,” Lydia commented.

“Hey, those were the big thing in 2009,” Barbara said. She supposed their wedding had followed a lot of popular trends: an outdoor barn wedding, lots of tea lights in mason jars, and even a photo booth. But they’d managed to be ahead of the curve on a few things. “Remember our party favours, sweetie?” she asked Adam. “They were little terrariums in stemless wineglasses.”

Adam grinned and squeezed the arm around her waist. “They were tied with ribbons that said ‘Thank you very ‘mulch’ for coming to our wedding!’”

Lydia chuckled; Beetlejuice rolled his eyes.

“Don’t encourage that,” the demon said to his friend. He continued scowling at the wedding album, but Lydia seemed happy to keep looking at the photos.

The most pages they turned, the more Barbara’s mood slid closer to Beetlejuice’s. All those photos were full of friends and family she couldn’t see anymore. Most of her friends’ Facebooks or Instagrams were private, so she couldn’t even do any light internet stalking unless she wanted to log into her old accounts and confuse everyone. Was Lisa still going back to school to get her Masters, or had the pandemic put that on hold? Was Alison still having issues with her mother-in-law? Barbara had no idea. Dead women didn’t have friends. Not to mention her family….

But a wedding was no time to be sad. She pasted a smile on her face and even managed a few cute wedding stories.

“Remember when your uncle Eddy tried to drink his wedding favour?” she asked Adam, who chuckled. “He almost choked on a succulent!”

“But he kept trying to drink from it! Three times!” Adam chuckled. A moment later, his smile faltered. “Probably because he’s a massive alcoholic.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” That story wasn’t quite as cute as she remembered. “So, um, why don’t we do a last-minute check? Make sure we’ve got everything.”

“All right,” Lydia said. She took the photo album from midair and put it away, frowning slightly. “This is probably going to be the nicest moment I have today, so thanks for that.”

Barbara and Adam shared a worried look. Lydia was deeply ambivalent about her father marrying another woman only six months after her mother died. Lydia had used that fact to extract a lot of concessions about the wedding: Delia had let her wear a black dress and take photographs on her analogue camera instead of a digital camera.

“C’mon, kid!” Beetlejuice said. “Just wait ‘til I get the party started!” He blew a party favour, and sparkly beetles flew behind him.

While Lydia rolled her eyes fondly at her friend, Barbara and Adam shared another worried look. The young woman went upstairs to get changed.  

Barbara turned to Beetlejuice. “I just wanted to remind you about your promise, Beetlejuice. I know it’d probably be very funny to interrupt the ceremony. Maybe Lydia would even appreciate it. But this day means a lot to Delia and Charles. They’ve found each other through a lot of pain and hardship, and they deserve a fun, special memory.”

Beetlejuice waved her words away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You don’t know this about me yet, but I love a good party. And people can finally see me! Well, only people here, but whatever. Why would I mess that up and have everybody pissed at me? I’m here for the fun and the food, baby.”

As much as Barbara wanted to believe him, she suspected that the only reason he didn’t have a disruption planned was because of Lydia’s innate goodness, not his own.

“I noticed you didn’t love us going through the wedding album, buddy,” Adam said. “Is everything okay?”

He shrugged. “It just…it looked nice. Your wedding.” He glanced between Barbara and Adam, loudly announcing, “None of that boring-ass shit at our wedding, okay?”

Barbara tried not to look too surprised—Beetlejuice loved shocking them. “Noted. But it’s also not going to be jump scares every minute, or a projector that reveals everyone’s darkest fears, or some kind of Saw situation.”

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows rose. “I was just thinking there’d be singing cockroaches and banners made of bats, but those are way better! You wanna plan it, baby?”

“I said ‘not.’ It’s not going to be any of those things. Did you even hear that part?”

He darted in close and kissed her lips. “Eh, we’ll find a compromise that works for all of us. We’re all about that life, right?” His neck stretched cartoonishly to kiss Adam on the lips as well. Then he poofed away in a cloud of smoke.

After a few moments, Adam said, “Did he just ask us to marry him?”

“I think it was a joke proposal. You know him. If he really wanted to propose, there’d be a lot more pizzazz. And possibly dead bodies.”

“Right, of course.”

“Would you have said yes if he’d been serious?” Barbara asked, curious.

“Things between the three of us have been going pretty well, but I don’t think I’m ready to jump into another marriage quite yet. And you?”

It was exactly what she’d expected from Adam. They’d changed since their deaths—six months later, their afterlives involved parenthood, isolation from friends and family, a lot more free time, and a polyamorous relationship. But it was nice when she could guess what he was thinking. Not everything had changed. “The same. Maybe in a few years or so.”

*

Before the ceremony, Charles and Lydia stayed in the living room, helping older relatives log on to Zoom and greeting people as they logged in. Charles was wearing a pale grey tuxedo with a metallic grey tie and pocket square. Lydia looked like an elegant classic Hollywood starlet with a goth twist: her black lace gown had a subtle skull pattern to it, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. Her onyx choker and bracelets looked like thorny vines going up her pale arms and encircling her neck. On her head was a raven fascinator with golden bead eyes, her one concession to the wedding colours.

The laptop screen filled up with squares of happy, smiling faces. Everyone had dressed up for the occasion, wearing suits and dresses.

“Betcha most of them are wearing sweat pants,” Beetlejuice said.

“Well, hopefully we’ll never find out,” Barbara replied. The three of them were sitting on the white chairs on either side of the aisle. Most people watching this meeting online probably assumed these chairs were only there for symmetry. As far as they knew, Lydia was the only other person physically at this wedding.

Despite her earlier claim, Lydia was smiling and chatting with Charles’s parents and, to Barbara’s surprise, Emily’s mother. Coming to your son-in-law’s wedding six months after your daughter’s death must have been hard, but if there were any issues, Barbara didn’t see them, and she wasn’t about to eavesdrop on a family moment.

Emily was sick for years. I suppose her family had a lot of time to mourn her. She thought about her parents and her sister at her own funeral. What had that been like?

Lydia took video of Delia coming down the stairs to the bridal chorus, played on speakers set up throughout the room, then put the video camera on a tripod so she could participate in the ceremony.

“I want to thank everyone for joining us today,” the officiant said. “In lieu of wedding gifts, the bride and groom have asked that you donate to the Rural Connecticut Preservation Society. I’m pleased to share that we’ve raised $10,000, which will be donated after the wedding.”

If Charles had had any reservations about donating to a charity dedicated to stopping housing development in rural Connecticut, which directly impacted his career, he hadn’t brought it up during the wedding’s planning stages. Lydia had suggested the charity, after all.

Everyone applauded.

“We will now bless the rings,” the officiant said.

Lydia took out the rings, held them both tightly in her hands, and whispered her blessing into her clenched fists. She smiled mischievously at Charles.

“I suppose if they burst into flame, we’ll know Mom disapproves.”

There were a few awkward chuckles from the assembled, none louder than Delia’s. “That’s my darling, unique stepdaughter for you! Oh, Lydia, you’re so funny!”

In a mocking, little-girl voice, Lydia replied, “I appreciate the compliment, my dearest stepmother.”

Barbara and Adam made sure that they were holding Beetlejuice’s hands so he couldn’t raise them.

The demon scoffed. “You know, I don’t need my hands to do ghost magic? I could just set the rings on fire with my mind.”

“Do not—”

“I wasn’t gonna! Jeez.”

With a theatrical flourish, Lydia showed off the rings to the laptop camera. Barbara half-expected them to be Netherworld green, but they were normal. “My blessing has been spoken. Please speak your blessings now.�� Ideally, everyone would’ve been able to touch the rings and speak their blessings in private.

After a pause, Delia’s father spoke first, and others followed. The wedding program had provided a few sample blessings, but people were free to write their own. Delia’s mother began crying halfway through hers.

“Save something for the wedding speech, Amanda,” her father joked. He reminded Barbara of her own dad.

Barbara and Adam gave their own blessings. “Delia and Charles, we wish you health, happiness and love as you start your new life together,” they said, touching the rings, making sure not to brush Lydia’s hands.

Beetlejuice had declined to take part in “New Age bullshittery,” so he remained hovering over his seat.

The rest of the wedding was more traditional, probably to appease Charles’s parents. Barbara’s mind wandered. She and Adam had come so far, hadn’t they? She held Adam’s hand lightly, running her thumb up and down his palm—rather, she did until Beetlejuice forced his way between the two of them and sat on both of their laps.

“Poor baby, no one was paying attention to you,” she cooed into his ear.

“It’s the worst,” he agreed. She ran her fingers through his spikey green hair. Adam gave him some attention by resting his head on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. That seemed to do the trick—he sighed and relaxed.

Readings were read, vows were said, and rings were exchanged. Charles’s vows were simple and straightforward—too curt for Barbara’s tastes—but Delia’s were long enough for them both. Barbara fought the urge to check the time. She felt like Delia had been going for 10 minutes.

Delia actually appeared to be wrapping up when “I object!” sounded over the laptop’s speakers.

A square popped up on Zoom, revealing that the speaker was a tanned older man with more salt than pepper in his hair and bright white teeth. He had a faint accent that Barbara couldn’t place. She’d never seen him on any of Delia’s photos or social media.

Delia made a few choking noises in the back of her throat, the colour draining from her face.

Charles glared at the screen. “You,” he spat out.

Clutching Charles like a lifeline, Delia drew herself up as tall as she could. “Jeremy, log off immediately! I don’t know how you got my number or how you got this link, but get out, you narcissistic psychopath! You don’t get to be a part of my life, not after what you did!”

“Delia, my love, I know you still feel something for me—“

‘My love’? This can’t be the ex-husband, can it? Years ago, Delia’s ex had sailed away to Rome with the secretary he’d been cheating on her with.

“Hey,” Beetlejuice whispered, “I never possessed someone over the internet before. Maybe if we all work together, we can do it?”

Jeremy had opened his mouth to speak again. If ghostly powers could stop this disaster, they had to try. Barbara grabbed Beetlejuice’s and Adam’s hands and held them out to the laptop screen.

“—and I—” Jeremy continued. His gaze abruptly unfocused. Barbara tried to force words into his mouth.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, just as she’d scripted. “I’m going to log off and…and…and throw myself into a dumpster like the piece of trash I am.”

She hadn’t told him to say that. Barbara glanced at Beetlejuice, who grinned back at her.

“And then,” Jeremy continued, “I’m gonna take my toenail clippings, and my belly button lint, put them in a blender, take a shit in that blender, start the blender, and pour myself a shit-shake. It’s my regular Saturday morning routine, baby!”

Lydia rushed forward and tapped a few keys. His square vanished from the screen.

“I blocked him,” she said.

“Thank you, stepdaughter.” Delia sniffled, and Charles handed her a Kleenex from his suit pocket.

As Delia struggled to compose herself, Barbara whispered, “A poop-shake? Really, Beetlejuice?”

“It was Adam!” He couldn’t even keep a straight face, and chortled. “Okay, you caught me. Hey, I had to make sure he’d never be able to look these people in the eye again.”

Delia glared at the laptop screen. “Lydia, darling, explain to me how you set this event up again.”

“I set it as a private Zoom event. Everyone involved in the ceremony had to have a link and a password.”

“So,” Delia said, “who gave my ex-husband—who, I’d just like to remind everyone, is a cheating bastard—the link and the password?”

Slowly, one of Delia’s aunts raised her hand, her face bright pink behind her makeup.

“Millie!” Delia’s mom exclaimed.

“Mom!” shrieked one of Delia’s cousins.

Most people on the Zoom call started shouting at once. It took a few minutes to hear Aunt Millie’s explanation.

“I had no idea he was going to object,” she squeaked. “But he was such a big part of our lives for such a long time, and I thought he deserved to at least see the ceremony….”

“Aunt Millie,” Delia said, “you are no longer welcome!”

“Of—of course. I’m so sorry, Delia.” Aunt Millie took out her glasses and peered at the screen. “Er, which button do I…?”

Lydia took care of it, and banned her.

“And everyone thought I’d use my ghost powers for evil,” Beetlejuice boasted. “Look at me, doing good deeds! Being a goddamn hero!”

Barbara would’ve responded, but poor Delia sagged against Charles, tears running down her face. She tried to speak, but only managed a quiet sob.

“We’re going to take a break,” Lydia said quickly, turning back to the laptop. “See you in 10 minutes, everyone.” She muted them and closed the laptop.

Beetlejuice waved his hand to grab Delia’s attention, grinning broadly. “Thought I’d mention that if you know where he lives I could teleport to his location and, well, cause a little havoc.”

“Do we need to go over the house rules?” Barbara asked. ‘No Murdering’ was the first one.

“No murdering, this time! Just a little non-fatal revenge.”

Delia hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Non-fatal?” Lydia asked Beetlejuice. “Are you sure? Our wedding did set a precedent for murder….”

Beetlejuice chuckled, and the two fistbumped.

After a moment, the demon frowned. “Wait, should I fistbump you for murdering me?”

“You already completed the ‘bump—you can’t take it back now,” Lydia said.

“Shit, you’re right.”

Delia stared at the living room, lips quivering. “Maybe…maybe this is a sign. The universe must not want me to get married again!”

Beetlejuice floated over. “Delia! Signs don’t exist. Trust me, I’d know! There is no heaven, no hell, no meaning to anything! The universe is cold, distant, and uncaring. It’s basically my mom,” he joked. “But the point is—it doesn’t care what you want, and nothing you say or do can affect it.

“Besides, girl!” Beetlejuice leaned in. “Chuck is rich as fuck. Lock him down!”

Charles glared at him before turning back to Delia. “I still want to get married to you, Delia.”

“Are you sure?” She blew into her Kleenex before continuing. “There are women who…who don’t have ex-husbands that ruin their weddings and—and make a scene in front of all their friends and family….”

“Delia,” Barbara said quietly, “you’re not the first person to date an asshole. I mean, look at me and Adam.”

Beetlejuice appreciated the burn, even if it was at his own expense—he cackled over Delia’s tepid chuckle.

“Don’t blame yourself for what just happened,” Barbara continued.

Delia whimpered into her Kleenex. Charles stroked her hair lightly.

“Delia,” he said, “I stood in front of our friends and family and told them how you were the brightest light in my darkest time. I meant every word of it. Nothing will change that. I love you.” He kissed her so deeply that Barbara looked away to give them some privacy.

When they were done, Lydia cleared her throat. “I’ll go get the digital camera so we can adjust the photos faster. That way you won’t have to worry about your makeup looking perfect.” She began to set her analog camera down.

Delia shook her head. “No—you said this was your artistic vision, and I won’t see it compromised.”

Lydia looked surprised. “Oh.” Her smile was small but sincere. “Thanks, Delia.”

Delia took this as an invitation to hug her stepdaughter. Lydia rolled her eyes, but patted her shoulder and didn’t pull away.

“Besides,” Delia added, “this camera was your mother’s gift to you, and I don’t want her coming back from the Netherworld to tell me off.”

Beetlejuice facepalmed. “That is not how the Netherworld works! That’s not how any of it works.”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to make sure, could it?” Delia stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fix my face.”

“I can help,” Barbara said, and Delia nodded.

Once they were upstairs, Delia collapsed in her makeup chair, sighing heavily.

“I actually thought it was going to go well,” she commented. “That I’d have one beautiful day even in the midst of the world’s ugliness. I was so stupid. Nothing ever goes right for me.”

Barbara reached out to pat Delia’s shoulder before stopping herself. When Delia looked confused, she explained, “Lydia said touching me or Adam is like touching an ice cube tray straight from the freezer.”

“I don’t mind.”

Hesitantly, Barbara touched Delia’s shoulder. It was the first time she’d touched a living person other than Lydia in months, and hugs from a 16-year-old girl she didn’t know that well were rare. The older woman shivered but didn’t pull away.

“Lydia’s not wrong,” Delia admitted. She put her hand over Barbara’s, squeezing slightly. “But a hand offered in friendship should never be refused. You know, it’s been almost four months since I last touched someone who wasn’t Charles.”

“Hopefully this coronavirus pandemic will end soon.”

“I’ve been saying healing prayers twice a day.”

Barbara wasn’t sure they’d be effective, but healing prayers were more than most of America’s leaders were doing. At least Delia was listening to the science and wearing a mask when she went outside. She’d grown so much in the short time Barbara had known her.

Barbara missed her friends from when she was alive. That was natural. But she couldn’t let her loss keep her from recognizing that she’d made a friend after death, too.

“Thanks, Delia,” Barbara said. “Not just for the healing prayers, but for everything. Having two ghostly housemates and a demon would be a lot for some people, but you’ve taken it in stride.”

Delia chuckled. “I once lived in a commune of 200 people. Living off the land, growing our own food…and digging our own toilets.” She wrinkled her nose, then chuckled. “You three are a walk in the park compared to that!”

“If there’s anything you need from me or Adam, please let us know. We don’t want to trouble you or Charles.”

Delia opened and closed her mouth. After a moment, she said, “Well….I suppose I do have a rather personal question….”

“Shoot.”

“Beetlejuice—is he actually good in the bedroom?”

Barbara giggled. “He is. He’s had millennia to think about what he’d do if he ever had sexual partners again. He’s very…inventive.”

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem the type to be concerned with another’s pleasure.”

“Oh, there’s definitely times he forgets. But then we get to teach him. Ahem. Now,” she nodded to the mirror, “let’s get your makeup touched up.”

*

Barbara wouldn’t ever be hungry or thirsty again, but the stuffed butternut squash was delicious. Delia and Charles had deferred to Barbara and Adam’s local expertise when they planned the menu at their wedding dinner. Adam knew most of the farms the vegetables had come from.

The Deetzes had said goodbye to all their guests, and the family was eating their wedding dinner in the dining room.

Delia had been going to give out the crystals on either side of the laptop as wedding favours—the stones were mostly rose quartz, moonstone and a pale white stone called selenite. But after Jeremy’s arrival, she said she needed to cleanse the crystals. “I’m going to give them a few lunar cycles, just to be safe.”

Barbara nodded, pretending she understood what that meant. “Adam, Beetlejuice and I are dead. We’ve got nothing but time!”

“I just want to thank everyone again for your hard work,” Delia said, smiling at them. “Lydia, for your photographic eye and leading the blessing. Barbara, for the hair, makeup, decorating and emotional support. Adam, for sending out all the emails and doing the tech support. All the ghosts, for intervening when a certain someone decided to crash the party.”

“It was mostly me,” Beetlejuice said. Barbara rolled her eyes at Adam, who chuckled.

“He is the ghost with the most,” Adam said, making Beetlejuice grin.

“My mistake—thank you, Beetlejuice. Thank you all for being part of one of the most important days of our lives. Thank you for being our family.”

Barbara sniffled a bit as she and Adam applauded the speech.

“I got the happy couple some extra gifts,” Beetlejuice said. “For the wedding night.”

“I’m going into another room,” Lydia announced abruptly, setting her plate down. “Another house. Another life.”

As she left, Beetlejuice grinned. “We’re rated PG-13, guys! It’s just rose petals on the bed and some boozy chocolates. Figured you two have your own toys—”

Lydia started singing loudly as she covered her ears, taking the stairs three at a time to get away.

Barbara tried to figure out what he had in mind. “These rose petals won’t become spiders, will they?”

“They’re totally normally and boring, if you must know. I ordered them off Amazon.”

“How?” Adam asked. “You have no money.”

“I typed in Chuck’s credit card, duh.”

“What?” Charles snapped.

Barbara and Adam sighed. Beetlejuice’s morality was a never-ending project that was not without its consequences.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected that it was a good thing the Maitlands loved working on projects together.

*

After the wedding dinner, as Barbara, Adam and Beetlejuice were cleaning up, Lydia came downstairs. She was carrying another photo album and wearing a glum expression. She’d changed out of her party dress, and was wearing a comfy hoodie and sweat pants—all black, of course.

“Got a sec?” she asked quietly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Barbara said.

Lydia showed them a photo—a younger Emily Deetz on a younger Charles’s lap, grinning at the camera in a fancy restaurant.

“My mom and dad’s wedding wasn’t like today’s. There wasn’t any structure. It was just a big party at one of the best restaurants in New York, followed by wandering the city with all their friends and family. They stopped in at dingy bars to listen to live music, they caught a comedy show, they walked through Times Square at two in the morning. They almost got mugged! Mom was hard core like that. Daddy attracts dramatic weddings, doesn’t he?” she joked.

Her smile dropped a second later. “And Daddy looks just as happy here as he did today. I was photographing him and Delia the whole time. I’d know.”

“So,” Beetlejuice said, “the big takeaway here is that Chuck is in love with the women he gets married to?”

Lydia chuckled sadly. “Something like that. I mean, one of them was a woman he met in college, while the other was his employee…. But who cares about things like abuses of power when it’s true love? Daddy and Delia keep trying to make me comfortable with their love story, but how can I be? If it were any other situation, I’d be blasting Daddy online as he stars in the latest MeToo scandal, right?”

Barbara nodded. “You’re right. It’s pretty rare for a story like Delia and Charles’s to end this way. You sound like you’re carrying a lot, Lydia. Do you want to sit and—”

“No, thanks. I just wanted to whine for a bit. Delia’s family seem nice, at least. Except for Aunt Millie, obviously.” She closed the photo album in a short, frustrated gesture. “Well, goodnight, guys.”

“Do you mind if we check in with you tomorrow?” Barbara said. “See how you’re feeling?” Sixteen was such a tough age—particularly when your father was remarrying.

“If you want.” She shrugged, as if she really didn’t care, but her small smile made Barbara hopeful that she’d made the right decision. The only thing more difficult than being a teenager was parenting a teenager she’d just met a few months ago.

Beetlejuice was frowning as Lydia left. “Guys, we gotta help Lyds!” He was nothing if not loyal. “We should break Chuck and Delia up, right?” He leaned in to Adam. “I got the perfect way to do it. You know how Delia thinks Emily can come back from the Netherworld?” Beetlejuice became Emily Deetz for a moment, still with a few mossy patches and green hair. “Well, what if she can? And then we tell Delia to GTFO!”

That he was asking them instead of just doing it was a pretty good sign.

“Well, Bug,” Adam said, “think about it—if Lydia didn’t want this wedding to happen, she could’ve objected herself. Or asked her father not to get married to Delia.”

Beetlejuice became his usual self again, looking disappointed. “Oh. Right. Didn’t think of that.”

“She’s an intelligent, sensitive young woman with complicated feelings about a complicated issue,” Barbara said. “I think the best way to help her is to listen to her without judgement.”

“Why is the right way always the most boring way?” Beetlejuice said, sighing.

Barbara knew how to get him happy again. “Now,” she said, running her hand along his shoulder, “why don’t we finish up and go upstairs? After all this work for everyone else, we deserve some…ah, quality time together.”

Beetlejuice fistpumped and chortled. “Yes! Unfortunately, because of this fic’s rating, we gotta cut it off here. I just wanna let everyone know, it’s gonna be freakin’ awesome—'cuz I’m awesome, baby.”

Barbara had no idea what he was talking about, as usual. Adam kissed her cheek, and they went back to the dishes.

[johnismyreason]

Henry - part 3

Yaaaaay it’s finally here ! after over a year, Henry part 3 is finally done ! I plan on writing two more parts, but it depends on the feedbacks I will have from you guys. I really hope you’ll enjoy it :) Please reblog to help me ! 

Read part 1 and 2 :)

Warnings: fluff, angst and few cursing words. Also bad English because I'm French. 

I don't dare to talk anymore for fear of saying something stupid or confessing I'm afraid. I try to look out the window to avoid his gaze. My fingers intertwined between them, I nervously scratch the skin on the edge of my nails. He stares at the road, a very slight smile drawn on his lips. The soft blazing light of the last evenings of September illuminates his face, which seems unchanged to me since his departure. Or maybe it has. In any case, he always gives me the same effect: butterflies in my belly and the feeling of rejuvenation every second that my eyes look at him. And yet he is different. Everything's changed about him, his clothes, his posture, his hair, his name. His name. Mr. Gray. Henry Gray? I don't know.

"Don't you speak?" he cuts me off from my thoughts. I blink quickly to return to reality and smile.

"Oh... I was in my thoughts," I replied, sweeping the air with my hand.

"What were you thinking about?" he turned his head briefly towards me, a curious look on his face and running his tongue over his lips. 

"Nothing important, I was wondering if I had closed everything at home before I left. I wouldn't want to go home and find my house ransacked," I muttered.

"Speaking of home..." Henry turns into a gravel driveway leading to a huge mansion. The lawn on either side of the driveway is meticulously mowed, like a castle. The house is so big, I'm afraid it might swallow me up. I don't say another word and I can't believe Henry can live here.

"Y-you live here?" I stammered, pointing at the house. He bites his lower lip in a smile and gets out of the car. I don't open my door, too surprised to make a move. Henry walked around the car and came to help me down.

"Princess..." he called out to me, holding out his hand. I blushed before I put my palm on his and he closed his fingers on the back of my hand.

"Henry... But how did you manage to afford a house, a palace like this?" I immediately corrected myself.

"I've done good business," he replied simply and guided me inside.

Surprisingly, the interior is more welcoming than the exterior. Despite the size of the entrance hall and other rooms, it is not cold. Henry takes me through each room, each one more splendid but still warm, before ending with his favourite: the library, which also serves as his office. It opens onto a terrace which itself leads to the garden, a huge plot of land that is just as well mowed as the front of the house.

"It's beautiful here, Henry," I said as I scanned the grounds, which stretch as far as the eye can see. I feel his presence behind and beside me, and his eyes glued to my face.

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like it?" I chuckled as I turned to him. "Who wouldn't love this place?" I draw closer to him. His smile gets bigger with every step I take toward him. "You must have done more than good business to be able to afford a place like this. Better than that poor sheep you sold for a pittance at the village market, remember?" I laughed.

"Y/N can you stop harping on that story every time we see each other?" he exhaled as he tilted his head back.

"Never. I can still see the look on your mother's face when you told her the news. She could have gutted you if she didn't love you so much." Henry changes his facial expression slightly when I mention his mother, but I don't pay attention to it. "Besides... we don't see each other that often," I continued in a less jovial tone. He took a deep breath and looked away. "Do you want something to drink?" he asked to change the subject. I nodded. "Whiskey? Scotch? Wine?"

"Um, just tea." I cut him off.

"Oh, all right... don't move, I got this." he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone in the silence. I take the opportunity to explore the library and its collection of books. There were all kinds. Novels, historical works, poetry, encyclopedias... It's strange, I don't remember Henry reading so much. Even though he was the best at school, the boy I knew preferred math to literature. But he's not the boy I knew anymore, I remember. Henry comes back, but without any tea.

"The water's getting hot," he replied to my questioning air. He walks towards the pedestal table where the bottles of alcohol and glasses are laid out to help himself to a whiskey. "Tell me," he begins, "what hospital do you work in?" he turns to me, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Oh, it's actually halfway between Birmingham and home - um, my home." I catch up. "in the new hospital they've just built" I sit on the couch in front of the desk.

"When do you start?" he joins me.

"A week from today. I can't wait !" he smiles at my enthusiasm. "It was my dream to become a nurse."

"I know," he said, putting a lock of my hair back behind my ear, "I remember." His voice is so soft and soothing, I could fall asleep in his arms. " Besides, it was always you who thought of my wounds," he laughed.

"You had a gift for finding yourself in unlikely situations." I reply. "That seems to always be the case," his hand, which continued to caress my hair, fell behind me on the back. He looks at me intensely and hesitates to speak. The tension gradually increases but is still bearable. Silence surrounds us and I don't know who will break it first.

"I'm sorry Y/N." I expected anything but that from him. "I'm sorry I left without saying anything, not even goodbye. Sorry I left my mom behind, my friends and especially you." my heart feels good and I can feel my cheeks change color. "You more than anyone. I should have talked to you, told you what was going on. I didn't have the courage. Forgive me." He's not angry or sad. He's just relieved to finally say what's been in his heart for five long years.

"What was going on, Henry?" I asked, thinking he was finally going to tell me every last detail.

"Your tea, Mr. Gray" presents the maid as he opens the door. I was startled when I didn't hear him come into the room, and then that name came to my ears. Mr. Gray.

"Thank you, Therese, you may go." he says, looking at me. When the door closes behind her, I stand up at once, freeing myself from Henry's grip. I mean Mr. Gray. Good heavens!

"All right, you must tell me something," I say, breathing heavily, running a hand through my hair. "Who the fuck is Mr. Gray?!" I freeze incapable of moving.

"Y/N..." Henry stands up to get closer but I reach out my hand to pull him away from me.

"Don't even try to bullshit me Henry" I warn him.

"My name is not Henry. It's not my real name." he starts to explain. I'm so confused and lost, I can barely breath.

"What are you telling me? I've called you Henry all my life, your mother, your father, everybody calls you that!"

"My real name is Michael Gray. My family is not my real family, Y/N. I was adopted shortly after I was born. My real mother's name is Polly Gray. One day my cousin Thomas Shelby came to meet me at my house, a week before I turned 18. I'd never seen him before, I didn't know who he was. When my mother and I came home, she told me everything. I felt like shit. I had a thousand questions and no answers. I wanted answers. So I went to Birmingham one day, to find my real mother. I met my real family, their business, their money, and I never wanted to go back. So on my 18th birthday, I left this lost village, this well that I've always hated, everything and everyone."

His voice was steady and his hands in his pocket. I didn't dare move, breathe or even look away for a second. All this information is projected in my face and I try as best I can to receive it without everything collapsing around me.

"Your real mother, your real family... But we are your real family Henry!"

"Michael." He corrects me curtly. "My name is and always has been Michael." My lips tremble and the tears at the edge of my eyes threaten to fall into the void.

"So you left just for the money and the fame. I know who Thomas Shelby is. You turned into a fucking gangster and abandoned me." my voice trembles, I try to hold back the tears.

"I wanted to tell you about it Y/N-"

"Bullshit!" I slap his hand that was trying to take mine. "You left without saying anything because that's exactly what you wanted. You killed Henry. You killed the only boy I ever loved." This time I can't hold back my tears. What's the point?

His eyes go wide open at my confession. He walks timidly towards me so I won't reject him, but I don't have the strength to do so. He places his hands on my cheeks so that I look at him. Mine cling to his wrists.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. You were and always will be my family. Y/N..." he wipes my tears and gently lifts my head to look into mine. "I thought about you every day that God made. I wanted to call you, write to you, but as time went by, I told myself it was no longer worth it. I was afraid you'd reject me. Y/N... I love you." I breathe out the breath I was holding in and look down. "Look at me, Y/N, look at me. I don't want to lie to you anymore and leave. Meeting you at the train station like you fell out of the sky, after 5 years, it was a blessing. That's got to mean something. I won't go anymore Y/N. It's over. I won't go away anymore." Our foreheads meet and I try to breathe but nothing goes in or out. It's me and him. Five years and confessions later. Our lips are drawn together, but they're not touching yet. God, I want to feel those lips. They're only a few millimeters away now. Come on, just a little more.

"I can't." I exhale as I pull myself away from his hands. "I can't," I repeat in a whisper... I leave the room, then the hall and finally this house which has finally managed to swallow me up. I don't bother to get my coat or my bag and I leave. I walk down this huge gravel driveway with my heart ready to explode. I cry without holding back, my moans break the peaceful silence of the countryside that I could not appreciate because of the drums in my ears that my heart is playing. I realize what has just happened. I find my childhood friend and the only boy for whom my heart has ever beaten, I discover that he is not the real son of this mother I admired, and that he preferred money to me. But there he is. Right next to me. And it's the only thing I ever wanted. For him to be near me, with me. It's him and me. And he loves me, I know he does. I stop walking at this reflection and turn around to look at the house. Without thinking any more I turn around and run back to where my reason has left me. I go back through the hall, the hallway and arrive quietly in the library. Hands on his desk, head down, it is as if he is waiting for his punishment.

"Michael," he straightens up immediately and turns to me. Unconsciously my feet move towards him, then my hands reach up to his waist so that finally my lips are crushed on his. And I breathe. His warm hands have an electroshock effect on my icy cheeks. My head spins, our pulses are the same and his arms hug me tightly against him.

"It's you and me, Michael. You and me," I whisper to him.

"Henry. Call me Henry."

TAGLIST: @fandom--0verdose @haphazardhufflepuff @enjoy-the-destruction @lovemissyhoneybee @xshinytrashcanx @lifesacrime24 @estefmsxo @smallheathgangsters @peakyfuckingblinders1919 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Dead-ication || Morgan & Grace

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @silveraccent & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Grace and Morgan just want to bake pie and be okay, but you can’t always get what you want.

CONTAINS: discussion of a car accident

Grace sat in her car, the buzz of the steering wheel still sending electricity through her fingertips. The sound of the engine settling into silence was barely recognizable. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared at the house. Morgan had invited her over, and while Grace had appreciated the concern and newfound… friendship, she still felt awkward imposing on somebody else’s time. Still, she had been invited, and it would be rude to decline such a thing as baking together. She finally got out of her car, the bitter cold burrowing into her bones as soon as she stepped out. Grace looked up to the house, her nerves suddenly growing. She had been absent lately, taking more time for herself-- but after Kaden had explained that Morgan helped with a lot of the pies that he passed around, she felt slightly more inclined to trust her. Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket, texting Morgan that she had arrived. There was doubt and embarrassment pooling in the pit of her stomach now. She looked down at the dead grass beneath her shoes, stubbing her toe against it.

Morgan ambled out of the studio in her puffer jacket, nudging the fresh snow on the grass with her boots as she crossed the garden to meet Grace. She didn’t know if she was playing human-in-the-cold right, but the faint prickle of snow on her hands was the closest thing she had to feeling anything, and she wouldn’t give it up even for appearances in single-digit temperatures. “Hey!” She called, waving to Grace as she came out of the side gate. She beamed, relieved to have some new company. “Come back through the garden with me, I’ve got a new workspace set up, and there’s just barely enough room for trying out something I found online: cherry and pecan pie, with a chocolate glaze. It’s either going to be the most amazing thing I’ve attempted or the worst.” She draped an arm around Grace and started ushering her toward the blue cottage studio, having just enough sense to keep from loitering in the cold.

Morgan’s voice was loud enough for Grace to be pulled from her thoughts. She looked up from the grass and let a smile pull at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t sure where she and Morgan landed in the grand scheme of things-- pies or not, Grace had cried and unfolded in front of her while she was a stranger, and even Grace knew it was hard to break that kind of bond. “Oh, okay!” She followed Morgan’s directions, leading after her closely, leaning into the woman’s touch when she draped an arm over her shoulder. “That sounds…” Grace wanted to be optimistic so instead of saying what she thought, she simply nodded, “good, if you do it the right way.” She looked towards the cottage, “that’s really cute-- but--” She looked towards the larger house, deciding not to ask questions. “How have you been?” She asked instead, ducking in through the doorway, taking off her shoes.

Morgan caught the dip in Grace’s voice. Her smile tightened as she led her across the garden and into the small building where she now devoted a few hours of each day, and sometimes more, to rebuilding a world of her own. “Okay, yes, there is a perfectly good, roomy kitchen in the house, but I am really desperate to break in the oven in here. I have a lot of pie-themed aspirations, and the sooner I get started the better, right?” She opened the door and hopped inside, holding it open for Grace as she welcomed her into the space. “I’ve been good!” She said, a little too brightly, even to her own ears. “Busy, kind of? But mostly good! It really does feel like a whole new time. How about you, Grace?”

“That’s… true.” Grace offered Morgan another smile, this time a bit more heartfelt. Despite not being able to feel anything off of the woman, she could tell there was something genuine in her, if not a bit sad. Though, she had suspected that was likely for all of White Crest’s residents. “It’s very cute,” she admitted as she looked around. The cabinets were low for either of them to reach-- more than she could say for her own apartment. It looked like something out of a story book. “Busy isn’t a bad thing,” she said. She kept busy mostly to keep her mind off of other things. “Better.” Better than the last time we met. Grace tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she ventured further towards the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if she should address the elephant in the room, that the last time they had talked, or even met, Grace had been full of tears and self-depreciation. Now, there were no tears. “Excited about um, the pie?” She smiled faintly.

“You know, I guess that’s true!” Morgan conceded, her voice a little off key. Grace was right, in general, but Morgan had been busy saying goodbye to her closest friends, botching opportunities to make new ones, pulling her sense of self back together again, and grieving the destruction her midlife angst had wrought on the town. It wasn’t a kind of busy she relished in, but making a pie was supposed to change that. “Better is good,” she said, a reminder to them both. “I was a little worried for you there, for a second.” She knelt down and fetched  the bowls and tins they would need, then picked through the small fridge. There was only space for them both with Grace on the other side of the counter and one of the bar stools used to rest the items they weren’t using. It reminded Morgan of the studio apartments she used to live in full time back in Houston and the desperate contortions she’d put herself through to get her books out of their cabinets and squeeze something that was almost a life together.

Morgan pushed the thought out of her head. “Anyway, I am actually excited. If you want, you can get going on the crust and catch me up? I wouldn’t mind hearing some good news out of this place for a change.”

Grace let her gaze remain on Morgan a beat of a second too long, still unsure of why she couldn’t feel anything. As for others, it was faint, but from Morgan, she received nothing. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as Morgan began to work at collecting their supplies. She felt awkward, not knowing what to do. “There really wasn’t a reason to be, I was just…” Devastated? Angry? Scared? “I mean, you know how it is.” Grace dropped her arms to her side, a nervous laugh escaping her. It’d be her luck that Morgan would know she was full of shit. She glanced down at the ring. Anxiety. But something yellow-- or maybe orange, began to peek through. She couldn’t be sure what it was, so she pulled her gaze back to look at the contents of Morgan’s cabinets and fridge beginning to make an appearance on her counter.

She finally took a step forward and stood just next to Morgan. “Um, yeah--” She looked down at the ingredients. She had made pie once or twice, but the crusts typically came in plastic, already made. “Sure.” She forced confidence in the word before she started incorporating the proper ingredients. Morgan wanted good news. Grace wasn’t sure if she had any-- at least, not exceptionally good news. “Work is better,” she said after a moment, glancing over at Morgan as she worked. Except for the fact that Cece was now gone and Regan was still not speaking to her. “Uh… I’m thinking of getting a rat?” She offered with a laugh, “Kaden and I watched Ratatouille, he mentioned that they have some up for adoption.”

Morgan took in Grace’s words silently. “I--think I do. Though I’m not sure what that means. I am sorry, you know. About Cece. I was there when she, um, had to go. I can tell you she really didn’t want to.” Although thats really wasn’t much in the way of comfort. To Morgan, that just made the situation that much more painful and unfair. “But I’m glad work is better.”

She managed a small laugh at the mention of Ratatouille, imagining Kaden making faces at the screen and silently critiquing the depictions of French people. “A pet rat, huh? Well, they’ll definitely have plenty of space around wherever you live. I hear some of them can be pretty friendly. But they have a short lifespan, I think. But then again, nothing on this world is truly stagnant. I’m sure you’d give one a really nice life.” She fell into blending her wet ingredients as she spoke this, eyes glazing as she watched the stand mixer do its work. It was the little things that you kept going for, she reminded herself. Especially if one of those little things was yourself.

Morgan’s mention of Cece made Grace freeze momentarily. her fingers twitched around the egg that she held in her hand. “Yeah, I--” She reached up with her free hand and pressed her fingers into her temple. “I’m sorry, but is it okay if we don’t… talk about that?” She offered Morgan an apologetic smile, “I just-- it was a lot.” It should’ve been easy to say goodbye to a co-worker, but at the morgue, Cece had been the only thing keeping Grace from falling apart. Now, it seemed like every turn she made, shivers ran down her spine and there was always anxiety in her gut.

Grace forced herself to relax and began working on the crust again. “Oh, yeah-- he was… perplexed about the whole uh, cooking thing.” She remembered Kaden’s face after his realization that the rat had been the chef all along and it brought a smile to her face. “I have a fish, but it’d be nice to have something I can sort of hangout with.” The right answer would be either a dog or a cat, but she felt her building was filled with so many of those already. Plus, a rat wouldn’t require as much attention as a dog. “I’ve been looking up these really big enclosures for them…” Grace’s lips twitched slightly into a frown at Morgan’s words. She couldn’t get a read on her, or why the conversation had turned slightly to the dark side. After a moment, she paused, “is everything okay?” She didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to get involved in something that didn’t concern her, but something told Grace she needed to ask the question.

Morgan winced at Grace’s aversion to discussing Cece. “Of course. I’m sorry.” As much as she intuited some commonalities in their pain, the way they coped with it was different, and she wasn’t much of anyone to the girl, just someone who had accidentally happened upon her during an emotional crisis. They should talk about other things. Better things. Literally-anything-but-that things. “Hanging out, yeah! Quality time is really special with an animal. I love it when the cats wander over just to watch or sit on me while I try to work around them. Moira’s getting kind of big for riding on my shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to understand that.” She added the egg to her bowl and when that was done, the cherries. Just in time for Grace to ask her what was wrong.

“Oh, yeah! I’m good. I’m sorry I’m being so--nosy, I guess. Maybe there’s something to be said about starting with small talk and pseudo-interview questions when you first meet someone. But really, there’s been a lot of changes, but most of it’s been really good!”

“No, it’s okay.” Grace offered her a reassuring smile. “It’s just… I’m trying to not really think about it.” She should and she knew it. Ignoring the pain Cece’s departure had brought wasn’t the right thing to do and she knew it, but being alone with Morgan made it impossible not to focus on her own feelings, especially because Morgan’s were absent. She fidgeted with the startings of the dough, not wanting to overwork it. “How long should we chill this?” She asked as she looked over at the brunette, her smile still intact.

“And no, it’s okay-- it’s normal to ask questions, right?” Their first meeting had been… different than any other meeting that Grace had had in White Crest. In fact, all of the people she had met had been different. At first, she was embarrassed by Morgan’s first impression of her, but there hadn’t been any point in allowing it to entirely encroach what could be a solid friendship. It had taken some time to get used to the idea, but she was there now, standing beside her, attempting to bake a pie. “Good changes,” Grace nodded along, “that’s good-- I’m glad things are good.” Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Morgan continued to work the blender, allowing herself to fall into the hypnotic accomplishment of seeing raw ingredients turn into something meaningful, even beautiful after a little mundane alchemy. She switched out the attachments and started adding in the fillings. It wouldn’t take long for everything to get folded in properly. “I’ll set a timer for thirty minutes,” she murmured distractedly, tapping the numbers into her phone. With nothing much else to do, Morgan watched the batter fold. Something was wrong, off. Not with the recipe but with them. Not the strangest thing in the world, given both of their tendency toward worry and overthinking, but it was too much for Morgan to bear silently. The last thing she wanted was to keep Grace hostage in her bad company. “Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it,” she said. “This is weird. I don’t know if it’s because things aren’t actually that fine, or if I’m being weird, or the place is making you claustrophobic, but there’s something, right? I’m not just imagining it?”

Grace stopped kneading the dough and nodded at Morgan’s instruction of 30 minutes. She grabbed the clean towel from the side and draped it over the bowl. She knew to put it in the fridge, or at least that’s what she hoped needed to be done. Would the cold butter turn chunky? No, she had worked that through, right? Distracted, Grace doesn’t quite hear Morgan’s question. Eyebrows furrowed, Grace stops in her tracks, the bowl of dough still in her hands. “Wait, what?” Could Morgan read her? Was that why Grace couldn’t get a read? If two empaths-- No, that didn’t make sense. She and her grandmother could read each other. She fiddled with the towel, her thumbs tugging it down, closer to her palms. “I don’t--” Grace took a deep breath, “it’s not you-- it’s just--” She recalled their online conversation, about how they were both something, and Grace wondered if it was time to come out and say it, to explain that no, there was nothing wrong with them, it was just confusion and anxiety on Grace’s part. After she put the dough into the fridge, she turned around and wrung her hands together, nails digging into her palms to create crescent moons. “Do you remember the conversation we had? Online? It was a while ago.” She paused, “about us being something? Both of us?”

Morgan resisted the impulse to double over with relief. “Yes! I do! Oh, stars, come here, Grace. Let’s sit, okay?” She led the girl over to the main area where there were floor pillows, a day bed, and a desk chair to choose from. Morgan chose the pillowy corner of the bed, if only because it meant scooping up Anya, who had snuck in with her usual silence, and squeezing in a moment or two of time with her. The black cat squinted at her, quietly affronted, but as Morgan settled, Anya marched along her legs and scraped the side of her face along the zombie’s hand and arm. “This seems like more of a sit down kind of talk, and before you say whatever, I want to assure you that you have my total confidence. Nothing you say will leave this room if you don’t want it to, okay?”

Though Grace couldn’t feel it, she could see the relief flood to Morgan’s face. Or, at least, that's what she thought it was. At Morgan’s insistence that she take a seat, she followed her to the seating area, opting for the desk chair. She took it out from its nook carefully, sitting down. Her hands in her lap, Grace pressed her nails into her palms and looked up as Morgan spoke. She regarded the cat lightly, watching the way it ran its head into Morgan’s arm. “Oh.” She blinked, “I mean, if it does--” She wasn’t sure if anything would happen if more people knew about it. Before White Crest, she kept it to herself mostly because she was afraid she’d be seen as a freak. In White Crest, she kept it as a secret because she was worried she’d be regarded as some kind of spy-- as if she were invasive. “Sure.” She smiled instead. She watched the black cat’s tail flick back and forth before looking back up to meet Morgan’s eyes. “It’s not really anything big.” Not like Nell, not like Regan. It’s not important, Grace wants to say. “But it has me…” She chewed the inside of her cheek, “wondering.” She admitted, feeling heat come to her cheeks. “What you are.” It sounded harsh and she winced, “I--” She might as well come out with it, “I can feel… people, their emotions.” She shifted in the chair, “but I can’t feel you.”

Morgan’s first reaction was, is that all? Wasn’t carrying a sense of other people’s feelings a good thing? Something the world needed more of? But Grace’s distress was as real as her embarrassment, so maybe Morgan didn’t understand how that all worked well enough. It probably made crowds overstimulating, at least. But then Grace finished and Morgan tensed, enough that Anya sensed it, glowered, and leapt to the floor to find something better to do.

“Oh.” Was all Morgan could think to say. It was the limits of human magic all over again. She was never allowed to forget about them for long, no matter how much she tried to build up her own limited connections to the world. “That must be...I can see how that might be distressing.” She searched for more words. Tepid silence soured the space between them. “You know it’s not you, right? The reason your power doesn’t work on me. You’re not sick or anything. It’s me.”

Grace watched as the cat skittered across the floor, its paws closing around a toy that resembled a mouse, but was blue in color. She looked back up to meet Morgan’s gaze as she began to speak. Even though she couldn’t feel her, she could see on her face that there was something there-- was it unease? Grace had been good at reading facial expressions, but she also noticed that Morgan had excelled at not giving much away. She ran her fingers through her hair, her hand coming to a stop at her ear where she began to fiddle with her earring. When Morgan finally explained that it wasn’t Grace, but whatever it was that she was, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t sure how that could be the case. “What do you mean?” Grace asked as she dropped her hand into her lap, the flower dusting her black skirt. She wiped it away idly, dropping her gaze. “Do you have some kind of protection from it?” She wondered if that was even possible, but there had been a lot to surprise her about the world she was now in.

Morgan couldn’t stop herself from snorting bitterly. “Never thought of it that way. I mean, I am immune to pretty much all kinds of human magic, including yours, I guess. But considering I used to be a witch, that doesn’t usually feel like a form of protection.” Morgan stilled and exhaled slowly. The root of that hurt was still in her, no matter how she pulled and cut at the stem in her mediations. She was starting to wonder if it would stay in her chest for the rest of her long days. “But this fact about my body, my energy, has saved me a couple of times.” Briefly, she considered simply telling grace what had happened. Just the truth, almost nine months ago on April 20th, she was standing on the sidewalk on Main Street getting ice cream with her best friend, and then she wasn’t. She was on the ground, and she bled out there and died there and on April 21st she woke up for the last time. Because her best friend was a zombie, and they didn’t want to watch another person they loved die for good. Morgan swallowed thickly, “This might be a terrible idea...” she muttered. It had certainly backfired with Dakota. “But would you please take my wrist, Grace? You know how to check for a pulse, right? You know the difference between a slow one or a faint one, right? And at the morgue, you know what a corpse with no pulse at all feels like, right?”

Used to be. Grace focused on those words. Was it possible for somebody to lose their powers? Morgan kept saying human, so did that mean…? Grace thought for a moment, attempting to understand what Morgan was trying to imply. She had a look of thought on her face, as if she were reliving something-- maybe the reasoning? Grace hadn’t realized that all of her life, she had checked to ensure that the emotions she felt from others matched their body language. Grace fiddled with the hem of her skirt, bunching the pleats together. Morgan’s question caught her off guard, and she looked up to meet the brunette’s eyes. Her gaze fell down to her wrist, outstretched. Grace felt something in the pit of her stomach, and her throat suddenly grew dry. Whatever it was Morgan was implying, Grace wasn’t sure she liked it. Still, she had to give Morgan the benefit of the doubt-- allow her to explain herself. Grace slid out of the chair, closing the distance between herself and Morgan and tentatively reached out to touch her fingers to the woman’s wrist. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and pressed her fingers down. The absence of a pulse was noticeable, and though Grace didn’t often worry about people being brought into the morgue who weren’t actually alive, she knew to look for one all the same. Fear and confusion coiled in the pit of Grace’s stomach and she snapped her hand back, holding it to the center of her chest. “You don’t…” She swallowed thickly, “you don’t have one.” She looked up to meet Morgan’s gaze, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because almost nine months ago, I was getting ice cream with a friend and found myself in a fatal accident a few seconds later. But my friend saved me, with magic of their own.” Morgan spoke softly and evenly. No alarm, and, as far as she could help it, no emotion. She didn’t want to go to pieces like she had after Dakota ran away from the museum. These things simply were; they didn’t need her to cut through them and feel that fresh darkness all over again. She unsnapped the leather cuff she wore to cover Remmy’s bite mark and showed it to Grace. “My body is, in most ways, dead. And the way I was taught it, human magic needs the current of life in order to connect with the universe. I’m outside of that now, so your magic can’t reach me. I’m held together and talking to you because of the magic of the undead. And really strong zombie antidepressants.” She gave a wet laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension, but her faith in the gesture was minimal and she did not bring her eyes up to read Grace’s expression. “I understand if you want to go. It’s a lot. Please don’t feel like you have to come up with an excuse,” she added.

Grace stood still in front of Morgan, the sound of her own heart that much louder in her ears. The lack of Morgan’s pulse was evidence enough that she was telling the truth. Why would she lie? Because Grace wouldn’t be able to tell? She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the uneasiness growing in her stomach. It made her skin crawl. The way Morgan shifted made Grace jump slightly and she watched as the brunette pulled away a piece of fabric. A bite mark stared up at her, and though she could hear Morgan’s explanation, she wasn’t sure if she could make sense of it. Grace was silent for longer than she would have liked to have been. Morgan had proven to be nothing but kind to her, even on their first meeting when Grace had been a mess. She stared down at the bite, and she felt that the longer she looked at it, the more it felt unreal. Grace didn’t look up until she spoke again. “I don’t...” She took a step back. The bite was real and her inability to feel Morgan was real-- the lack of pulse, too. She ran a hand over her face and backed up against the wall, leveling her gaze with Morgan. “I’m sorry, I don’t--” She wasn’t sure she could comprehend what was happening. Accepting that Regan had been a banshee had been easy, and so had accepting Nell as a witch, but this? Morgan was saying she was undead, a lifeless individual, but she was so full of life, so how could that be? Grace swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and she glanced towards the kitchen, the ingredients for the pie that wouldn’t be made scattered across the countertop. “I’m sorry, I just.. I think-- I think I need a moment.” Morgan didn’t deserve silence or ignorance. She deserved kindness, but Grace was afraid that she’d show more fear than anything else in this moment. “I should go, I’m-- I’m so sorry.” She headed towards the door, her heart pounding in her ears as she collected her shoes. She wanted to stay, wanted to tell Morgan that she didn’t think any differently, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Grace was afraid. For the first time, she was rightfully afraid, and why? Morgan had done nothing but express kindness to her, but even for Grace, there was only so much she could handle.

Morgan nodded mutely and kept her gaze fixed out one of the many windows at her prickly bushel of witch hazel growing out of the frost as Grace stumbled away in fear. It was said that the herb had the power to heal almost anything, even a broken heart; that you could take the branches and use them to douse for water, or the way home with the right enchantment. But Morgan had taken enough herbs apart and put them back together to know better. Some pains couldn’t be escaped and some detours needed to be traveled and endured. “It’s okay,” she said softly, trying to soothe herself even more than Grace. “You can go. I’ll finish up here.” She held herself, shivering even though she was beyond alive concepts like ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ She kept her eyes on that bushel of witch hazel for a long time, until the timer on her phone went off and she marched herself back into the kitchenette to finish the pie. There were no such things in this world as magical cure-alls or salves for fear, or grief. But stars above, sometimes Morgan wished there were.

[sun-kissed-star]

Could u write albert/race (platonic or romantic) w adhd!race (btw i l o v e ur fics)

thank u love, just for you here’s a fic of me projecting on race, ft. an asshole date and albert being a sweetheart

trigger warning: ableist language

~~~~~~~

“Come to the park with me on my date, he said,” Albert muttered to himself, swatting a branch out of his face. “It’ll be fun, he said.”

In any given situation, Albert would rather stab out his left eyeball with a spork than be a third-wheel on a date. It made him anxious and turned him from calm and collected to a shy, awkward mess in a matter of seconds. 

Apparently, all those things went out the window when Race was involved. Albert guessed it was fair, anyway. Race had met a cute boy named Kevin at a party, been asked out on a date, and proceeded to beg Albert to come with him. He’d barely talked to the boy and he was “too young and pretty to be murdered on a first date.” (Race’s words, not Albert’s.)

Besides, it wasn’t really third-wheeling. Not when Albert was crouched in a tree, watching Kevin slip his hand into Race’s. It was technically called stalking. 

“You having fun?” Kevin said to Race. They were sitting on a bench directly under Albert’s tree, and frankly, he considered it a miracle Kevin hadn’t looked up yet. 

“Yeah,” Race said, grinning at their linked hands. His cheeks and ears were tinged pink. “I love this park. When I was seven, my mom, my biological one, took me and my best friend Albert here. I don’t live with her anymore, I doubt she remembers it, but I broke my arm. I don’t even remember how. I mean, that wasn’t the last time I was here, that’s the only time I’ve ever broken something. My brother says it’s a miracle I haven’t cracked my head open from all the idiot stuff I do. He shouldn’t be talking, right? He’s usually the reason I do stupid stuff. Me and him went to this park a few weeks ago. Oh, his name’s Jack, I’ve got two brothers and a sister, all adopted, our poor mom. Have you met him? He was at that party we met at, but he was probably passed out on the couch.”

Race took a breath and looked at Kevin expectantly. Albert had followed the entire conversation, more than used to Race when he started rambling, but Kevin didn’t have the same expertise. He looked like a deer in headlights, scrambling to find an endpoint to Race’s story. 

“Um… you’re a foster kid?” he finally settled on saying. “Or, um, you’re adopted?”

Albert didn’t approve. 

“Yeah,” Race said. “Adopted when I was eleven. Did I mention that? Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to unload on you.”

“Um, it’s okay, you didn’t,” Kevin said. “So… what happened with your brother?” Race raised an eyebrow, and Kevin elaborated. “A few weeks ago? When you were here with him?”“Oh!” Race said, and he launched back into his story like he’d never taken a pause. “So, we dragged a trampoline to the base of a tree, and he dared me to jump off a branch and land on the trampoline. We didn’t have a helmet so we just used a pillow. Honestly, that was one of the times where I thought I’d break somethin’ else, but it was just that one time when I was seven. I had a huge scratch on my leg for a couple weeks and I’ve got a scar, but it’s not that bad.”Kevin laughed awkwardly and tucked his hands under his thighs. It was then Albert noticed that Race had pulled their hands apart and was gesturing grandly with one. The other was resting on Kevin’s knee. Race was a tactile guy, and Albert was surprised the hand hadn’t made its way to Kevin’s face. 

“You talk a lot,” Kevin said. 

Race smiled. “Ain’t the first time someone’s told me that, trust me,” he said. “You should talk to my teachers. They’d probably go on tangents longer than mine about me. My math teacher doesn’t like me ‘cause I always get the answer right, but not the way I’m supposed to get it, which is fuckin’ unfa-”

“Let’s get ice cream,” Kevin cut in, standing up suddenly and grabbing Race’s sleeve to tug him up with him.

Race smiled sheepishly as his hand moved to grab Kevin’s again. Kevin stuffed his hands in his pockets pointedly. “Okay, cool. Sorry. Just let me know if I start rambling like that and I’m bein’ annoying. I’m kind of an idiot.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin said with a grin so fake it hurt to look at. The kid was getting a solid two out of ten on Albert’s scale of “People That Deserve To Hang Out With My Friends.”

“Hey, I don’t have my wallet with me,” Race said, patting his pockets. “But I can pay you back for the ice cream. It’d be the gentleman thing to do, right?” He winked, sidling up to Kevin’s side to lean on him, and Albert forced a laugh back down his throat. 

Kevin didn’t think it was funny. When Race’s elbow raised to rest on his shoulder, he moved away. “You didn’t bring your wallet?” he said, frowning. “But I didn’t bring mine. We agreed to get ice cream a couple days ago, when I asked you out, and you said you’d pay. Remember?”

Race’s face fell when Kevin stepped back. “Oh… oh,” he said, realization dawning over his face. “Fuckin’ shit. I’m sorry, Kevin,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Albert wanted to jump down and give him a hug, but that might have had something to do with the fact that his back was permanently cramped from hunching over in the tree for so long. 

Instead of forcing a smile and saying “It’s fine,” which Albert had been expecting, the frown didn’t waver on Kevin’s face. “What’s your problem, man?” he said. “Like, I don’t wanna be rude, but you’ve spent this entire time talking about yourself and you forgot about something we agreed on two days ago.”

“I… dude, I didn’t mean to,” Race tried. “Sorry if I’m being obnoxious. I have ADHD and I’ve been out of meds since last week. I forgot to tell my mom, but she’s picking them up today.”

If anything, Kevin’s scowl deepened, which just made the situation worse. Albert could read Race’s stiff shoulders and fleeting eyes like a book. “That’s not an excuse, dude. I get that you’ve got memory problems or whatever, but we’ve all got our issues. Can’t you just… I don’t know, try harder?” 

“I -”

“Forget it,” Kevin muttered. “I’m not really in the mood for ice cream, I think I’m just gonna go home. I’ll text you or something.” He clapped a hand on Race’s shoulder. “See you later, Tony.”

From the look on his face as he walked off, hands still stuffed deep in his pockets, Albert had a feeling he wouldn’t be texting. 

He waited until Kevin had completely disappeared around the corner. He’d pulled out his phone as soon as he left Race alone, thumps tapping wildly on the screen. Albert could only pray there wouldn’t be rumors about “the weird, freckled kid that never shuts up” at school on Monday. 

He jumped down from his tree, a lot less gracefully than he would’ve prefered. Race jumped a foot in the air and whipped around as Albert sweared loudly, clutching his foot. 

“Shit, I forgot you were up there,” Race said. His shoulders slumped, and he looked more like a kicked puppy than a dejected teenage boy. “Sorry you had to listen to all that. Like, me rambling and then gettin’ ditched by Kevin and whatever.”

“Shut up,” Albert said. Hearing himself out loud, he quickly backtracked, “I-I mean, you can talk as much as you want. I just don’t want you to… you’ve said sorry too much today, Racer. It’s not your fault.”He stared intently at the hole in the toe of his Converse as he was talking, and when he looked up, Race’s eyes were red. He wasn’t quite crying, but his voice cracked when he spoke.

“Yes it is.” It sounded like he’d tried to sound angry with himself, to snap out his words like a rubber band against raw skin, but he just sounded sad. “Don’t play dumb, Albie. Kevin’s right. I talked about myself too much, and I forgot about somethin’ so fuckin’ simple, and I chased him away. Did you see his face?” he demanded. “He looked at me like I was a fuckin’ alien from Area 51, and then he left.”

As much as Albert wanted to say “Good riddance to him, then,” he didn’t think it would be appreciated. He stepped forward, Race sunk his head into his shoulder.

“I’m such an idiot,” he said, words muffled in Albert’s shirt. “And I kind of wanted that ice cream, babe, not gonna lie.” 

Albert gripped the back of Race’s neck wordlessly, knowing the pressure was grounding and comforting from how often Race did it to him. “Lucky for you,” he mumbled in Race’s ear, “I always come prepared. C’mon, dude, my brother gave me twenty bucks and I’m spending all of it before I step foot in my house.”

Race smiled against his shoulder. “What would I do without you? Seriously, would I be dead? I think I’d be dead.”

“No, you just wouldn’t have stories to tell about breaking your arm with me to asshole dates.”

“He wasn’t an as-”

“Race. You told him you had ADHD, and he told you to try harder and get over it.”

“I should’ve told him before so he’d know how much work I can b-”“If I told someone I had autism and they told me to suck it up and stop whining, would you deck them or not?”

Race lifted his head, silently pursing his lips together. “Okay,” he admitted. “He was kind of an asshole.”

Albert nodded solemnly. “The asshole to end all assholes,” he said. He was just trying to make Race laugh and they both knew it, but in his defense, it was working. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing Race’s collar and ushering him towards the sidewalk. “Chocolate or vanilla?”“Both. Extra sprinkles.”

“Damn. You know I’m paying, right? Maybe you’re the asshole.”

Race laughed again, throwing his head back and an arm around Albert’s shoulders, and for the first time in an hour, all was right with Albert’s world. 

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[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (8)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A brief flash of sexy times and angsty intrigue.

A/N: Several people messaged reminding me that adding links kill searches (Tumblr is utterly ridiculous), so I’ve taken those out. If you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

That last chapter murdered my heart, I hope it destroyed all of you as well! This week, Bucky gets cockblocked and the mysterious circumstances that brought him back to her take a strange turn. 

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

Previously...

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

MISSION REPORT

SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT ESTABLISHED. AWAITING RESULTS.

He thinks to himself.

What will he do when he sees the whites of her eyes?

He grinds his teeth, breathing hard through his nose.

What will he do?

*****

After he came back, Bucky’s therapist encouraged him to ask questions. Anything and everything, the more the merrier. Nothing was off limits. At first, it felt strange, asking someone else to share the basic tenets of his life, but he grudgingly persevered. It was the only way he knew how to get the answers he needed.

The very first time they sat down, Bucky flipped his notepad open to reveal 27 pages, front to back, loaded with questions.

Some were simple.

“What was my favorite color? How did I take my coffee? When did I have my first kiss? What was my favorite book? Who was my favorite ball player?”

One after another, he fired the questions and Steve answered every single one, down to the most boring, insignificant detail. With every response, Bucky turned the words over in his head, testing them on his tongue and repeating them back. Committing them to memory so he could sketch out the simple outline of who he used to be.

Some here harder.

“Why’d I get drafted instead of signing up for the war? Why didn’t I get along with my father? Was I very religious? Why not?”

Those answers were thorny, not always nice and, but Steve replied with full and frank honesty, because there was no one else in the world knew Bucky Barnes as well as Steve Rogers.

It became a common sight, Bucky clutching the bright pink notepad Natasha gave him, carefully writing answers while Steve spoke; Steve was always willing to drop everything to talk.

Now, he recalls one question where Steve stumbled a bit more than usual.

“Did I want to get married?”

An oddly devastated sadness had rearranged Steve’s features, before he offered a vague answer.

“When we were younger, no. During the war, you changed your mind.”

“Why’d I do that?”

“It happens.”

“People usually have a reason. What happened?”

“War happened. And you know, stuff.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird, I’m just - look, you, um, you met - someone.”

“Who -“

But before he could dig further, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Bells started ringing, lights flashing, an Irish voice coming through the ceiling as FRIDAY announced they were summoned for a mission. Snapping his mouth shut, Bucky tucked the notepad in the waistband of his jeans and leapt to his feet, the question forgotten.

Later, Steve tried to bring it up again, casually mentioning Bucky’s girl and some letters she wrote to him, but by then it was too late. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Bucky was exhausted and frustrated and close to tears, and he had no desire to remember someone else he’d let down.

Hurtled back to the present, Bucky sits up in the dim light of her bedroom and throws a knee across her hips, boxing her in beneath him. Palms anchored to the bed beside her head, he looks down at her face. Anxious fear flashes through her, something he can’t reconcile. All he knows in this moment, is a desire to smooth it away.

“I don’t - why didn’t you say something sooner?” Bucky whispers. “Why - “

But he stops. He stops, because he knows why.

“Oh,” he says softly, disappointment filling his throat. “No, okay. It’s okay. I get it.”

She watches him glance at the metal arm, his shoulders sagging as he tries to pull away. Her hands fly up, gripping his arms tight, keeping him in place.

“No. You listen to me Bucky Barnes - this was not about you or anything you think you’ve done.” Bucky stares hard, clearly desperate to believe her. “I wanted to tell you, I just - couldn’t hold you to a promise we made seventy years ago. We were different people then, I know that. You have a whole other life now. I don’t expect anything, I don’t - expect you to still want that.”

The sharp ache that hits him whenever he sees her sadness tightens his chest. The words come easily, and he answers without a second thought.

Because really, he doesn’t need to think. They’re the most honest thing he knows.

“Darlin, you listen to me - I said it then, I’ll say it again. This kind of love, it never leaves. I meant that. Even if I don’t remember saying it, I know I meant it. I know I did.”

Hope fills her eyes at his insistence, that fragile kind he could smash with a single word.

Which he never plans to do, as long as he lives.

“Really?” she whispers, brushing her knuckles over his fuzzy cheek and he turns, pressing his lips to them.

“Really,” he says hoarsely.

Curling her fingers behind his neck, she pulls his mouth down and her kiss is soft and sweet and everything he’s been missing his entire godforsaken life. Bucky lets himself drown in her for a brief moment, before breaking the kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, pulling back. “We were gonna get married and I just fuckin’ left you. I left you. God dammit, I’m - fuck, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she says immediately. “It wasn’t your fault, Bucky. None of it was your fault.”

Those magic words, he’s heard them a million times, in a million variations, since the day he came back. They’ve always meant nothing, hollow assurances he actively scorned. He knew better. But now, lying here with her while the dim light of a fresh mountain morning begins to flood the room - he finally lets them soak in.

Maybe he even believes them.

“We were gonna get married,” he says instead, wonder filling his voice. “You were gonna marry me.”

“I was,” she says, and her tentative smile is like the sun. “And you were going to marry me.”

Bucky considers her for a moment before he surges forward. Nothing about the move is coordinated, it’s a messy tangle of tongues and teeth clacking together, a kiss bubbling over with frantic need, as though the world is ending and this is the only way to prevent its demise.

His kiss is frantic and passionate and so utterly Bucky, she can barely breath. Everything he does to her, it kicks her heart into a crazy tailspin and she kisses him back ferociously, drinking up the tiny sounds he makes, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers. It’s enough for forever, the way he spills over so full of life and happiness and love.

And she knows, it’s all for her.

When his hands squeeze her ribcage, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, his lips move up to her ear with the question she’s been waiting for, and she shivers.

“Can I?”

“Yes, please,” she breathes, and Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

Slipping his hands beneath her shirt, twin sighs of relief come at the feel of skin on skin. For the first time in decades, that feeling of absolute and total desire crackles through her and she arches into his touch. Sliding his right hand up, gently cupping her breast, he kisses her again and she moans into his lips when he thumbs over her nipple. His left hand hesitates on her belly, hard and cold, but then she grips his wrist firmly and tugs his hand up, placing it on her other breast and hooking her ankle behind his thigh.

Rocking himself against her, Bucky kisses every inch of skin he can find; that smooth space behind her ear, the delicate tendon down her neck, the sharp collarbone above her sleep shirt, his hands teasing relentlessly until she’s breathing fast and hard, pushing herself back against him.

Swallowing his nerves, his fingers drift down. Finding the waistband of her shorts, circling the edge, working up the courage to dip his fingers inside, he takes a deep breath and -

His phone buzzes. Loudly.

“Shit,” he rasps, jerking back. Reaching over to the bright screen flashing on the nightstand, his lust-addled brain fumbles repeatedly and he hits the ignore button three times before it goes silent. The spell is momentarily broken, the room quiet. Breathing hard, he gives her a crooked little grin and kisses the tip of her nose. “Sorry. Way to kill the mood, huh? Where were we?”

“Right here,” she murmurs, pulling his face back to hers and slipping her tongue between his lips. Bucky melts into the touch, feels himself growing painfully hard against her, feels her fingers stroking down the hard planes of his stomach, sliding dangerously close to his -

His phone buzzes. Again.

“Motherfucker,” he growls. Snatching it up, he flips the phone to silent again and throws it across the room for good measure. It lands with a soft thump in the corner and he dives back in for a kiss, feeling her shake with silent laughter.

The laughter turns to a breathless whine when he tugs up her shirt, his mouth finding the soft skin of her belly, sucking and kissing a path higher and higher, licking at the swell of her breast, so close, and god he wants to -

He wants to understand why life can’t just go his fucking way for once, that’s what he wants.

His phone buzzes. Again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky announces, sitting up on his knees. There’s only one person who has the ability to bypass the silent mode he’s put it on and he’s gonna thoroughly enjoy strangling him next time he sees his stupid face.

Bouncing off the bed, he stomps over to the corner and picks up his phone, pressing the answer button so hard he’s surprised the screen doesn’t shatter.

“What, Steve?” he snaps, frustrated desire turning his voice into a snarl. “What could you possibly fucking need right now?”

“Morning sunshine. Sorry to bother, but we need to talk.”

“I’m incredibly busy at the moment,” Bucky grits out. Watching her snuggle deeper into the blankets, she gives him a lazy smile and he slams his eyes shut so he can focus. “I’ll call you later.”

He tries to hang up, but Steve’s voice is calling out “Wait!”

Bucky vows then and there to steal Steve’s shield when he gets back and brain him with it.

“Jesus Christ fuckin’ fuck. Hang on,” he growls. Stamping down the irritation, he shoots her a look of exasperated apology. “Give me two minutes, okay?”

“It’s okay. I’ll go make coffee,” she replies, crawling out of bed and Bucky feels the overwhelming desire to tackle her and make her to stay put. A whine of dissent slips out and she bites back a smile at his frustration. “Come downstairs when you’re done, maybe we can finish this.”

And then she winks and tiptoes out of the bedroom.

Bucky forces himself not to bolt after her. Instead, he irritably adjusts the situation between his legs and waits until she’s out of earshot before flipping the screen to video. Steve’s semi-apologetic face comes into view.

“This better be real fuckin’ good,” Bucky sighs.

“It’s that signal, up at the Hydra base. It’s gone off again.”

Anger evaporating, Bucky’s eyes narrow. “It’s what?”

“It went off again,” Steve repeats. “I thought you disabled it?”

“I did,” Bucky says slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Tony triple-checked it.” His face morphs into serious Captain mode. “Real talk. Do I need to come out? Is it possible there’s something else happening?”

Bucky thinks back, recalling the layers of dust, the cottony white spiderwebs, the echoes of ancient violence stuffed in that cavernous base. Once upon a time, it contained nightmares, sure. But there was nothing there now. He’s sure.

“No, there was nothing there. I’m sure. Stay home.”

Sky blue eyes scrutinize him through the small screen. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Fine.” Steve pauses. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

“Nope,” Bucky answers promptly.

“Sure?”

Exhaling a long-suffering sigh, Bucky gives him a pointed look. “Actually yes. You’re a nosy little shit. Why is that?”

The stoic expression fades and Steve grins. “Probably ‘cause I’m used to your dumbass needing my help all the fuckin’ time.”

Shooting him a mocking glare, Bucky shakes his head. “Fucking hell. What’s the press gonna say when they hear Captain America has such a fuckin’ potty mouth?”

“Expect they’ll blame it on you. Just like my Ma did.”

Bucky snorts. “Touché. I’ll go check it out. Call you later. Dick.”

Steve gives him a goofy, open-mouthed smile and a thumbs up. Bucky presses the end call button hard. Silence blankets the room, and he rubs the heel of his hand in his eye, pushing down a sudden wave of tiredness.

Someday, maybe, just maybe - he’ll be done with this shit.

*****

Rifling through the tidy pile of his clothes folded in the corner of her closet, Bucky dresses quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt, a vest, his white tac pants. Pulling his semi-clean, but still slightly bloody, white coat from a hanger, he shrugs into it. Looking into the mirror, he fingers the two bullet holes in the chest, twitching at the memory of them punching through his flesh.

Opening his backpack, he pulls out his cache of weapons. Chooses his favorite Glock, the old Sig Sauer, his second favorite Glock, his third favorite Glock, tucking them all into their designated holsters. Sheathing a couple knives comfortably in his boots, he ties his snarly hair back and fits the white balaclava over his head.

Standing in front of her mirror, he fixes his mouth into that trademark smirk that normally accompanies a mission outfit and tries to psyche himself up. Clear his mind. Sharpen his nerves.

It sort of works. Except that miserable slump of his shoulders - that refuses to change. Grimacing at the visual, he gives up.

Was he always this tired?

Steeling himself, he heads downstairs, clearing his throat and treading loudly to announce his presence. He doesn’t want to scare the shit out of her, stomping around like the abominable snow monster with weapons coming out his ass.

Standing in the kitchen, she wears her silky cotton sleep shorts and a loose t-shirt. The sight of her pouring two steaming cups of coffee, while the sun begins to fill the cozy little cabin, is almost enough to break him. Say fuck it and tell Steve to come do it himself.

But of course, he won’t. He never does. Because here comes Bucky Barnes. He always makes the shot. He always saves the day.

He sighs.

When she looks up, her budding smile instantly fades. She goes still, the only movement the tight clench of her jaw. She sets the coffee pot down with a quiet click.

“Before you ask,” Bucky starts, “I’m not leaving. Steve called, I gotta go back up to the base. That fuckin’ signal’s going haywire again.”

A spasm of alarm floods her face and she grips the edge of the counter. “Someone’s there?”

“We don’t think anyone’s there,” Bucky assures her. “There’s nothing to indicate that, we think it’s just the tech. Guess I didn’t finish the job last time, so I need to go fix it.”

Considering him for a fleeting moment, she bites her lip and thinks; appearing to make a decision she nods and walks toward him, heading for the stairs.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, catching her arm. “You won’t. It’s nothing to worry about. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Please.”

Squaring her shoulders, she tugs her arm gently from his nervous fingers and Bucky braces for an argument. But then she simply traces the bullet holes in his jacket, examining the torn edges of white fabric. Contemplating his comment. She meets his eyes and gives him a small smile.

“If it’s nothing to worry about, then it doesn’t matter if I come. Unless you’re saying goodbye for good, I’m not letting you go alone. Is it goodbye for good?”

Even the thought of leaving her makes his breath catch.

“No,” he breathes. “Never.”

Reaching up, she tucks an errant strand of dark hair into the balaclava. Cradles his hot, scruffy cheeks in her cool palms, and kisses his lips.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Should he argue? Probably. Will he? Probably not. Because having someone love him like this - it just feels too nice.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Get dressed.”

*****

Any roads leading to the base have long since grown over. The only way up is an overgrown trail, accessed through a steep hike. Parking her old, now slightly blood-stained truck to edge of the path, they start to climb. Bucky takes it slow at first, until he realizes she’s waiting patiently for him to go faster.

“Altitude sucks,” he pants, pausing to put his hands on his head. “Think you might be in better shape than me.”

“No,” she replies, offering a hand to pull him up. “I’m definitely in better shape than you.”

Barking out a surprised laugh, he squeezes her fingers.

Ninety minutes later, the entrance appears. Grey on grey, the door blends seamlessly into the mountain rock, it’s curved handle set flush against the heavy metal. On his first visit, it was rusted shut, wind and weather and age an effective deterrent; it had taken him nearly an hour to bust through.

Before they enter, Bucky turns to her and unlatches his favorite Glock from the side holster.

“Guess I don’t need to tell you how to use it, since you’ve already saved my ass,” he watches her tuck her gloves into her coat and take the handle of the gun, double-checking the safety. The fluid gesture twists his gut. Looking up, she gives him a wane smile.

“No. All good.”

It bothers him. Clearly, she knows how to protect herself - he wasn’t there to do it, she had to learn - but he despises the fact that violence has touched her. That he’s tainted her with it himself. He doesn’t want that part of his life to be something they share.

Then and there, he makes himself a promise. If he gets a future with her, he’ll do everything in his power to build her a life free from the sadness that seems so adamant to cling to her. Loving her that way, forever and always - it’s the least he can do.

Pulling off the balaclava, he welcomes the bite of cold air against his sweat damp neck. Reaching into the depths of his white coat, he produces two small flashlights, handing one to her and clicking the other to life, and with a shouldered shove, he opens the door. It swings easily, clean and oiled from his last visit.

Holding the flashlight aloft, he balances his gun on his wrist, rolls his shoulders and starts forward, eyes cautiously sweeping the entrance, as she steps carefully behind.

The hallway twists and turns, snaking deep into the bedrock of the mountain. The air warms as they walk, the depth of the mountain keeping the cold from penetrating; the dampness in the air increases though, negating any warming effects and cutting deep.

Damp cold was the worst kind. It always soaked into his bones. Held tight, refused to leave.

Heavy iron doors hang from broken hinges along the walls, frozen in place through a potent combination of old age and powdery red rust. Bucky’s already rummaged through the small rooms lining the hall, turning up nothing more than a handful of paperclips and a couple broken rifles; as he runs his light up and down the doors, the rooms reveal nothing new.

A good thing, he thinks. A very good thing.

Their flashlights illuminate the narrow hall, the enclosed space muffling their footsteps. On and on they plod, until the click of Bucky’s boot makes a new sound, echoing up into the soaring ceiling of a new chamber. They’ve reached the control room now, and there it is.

In the blackness of the cavernous room, he sees a blinking red light.

What the fucking hell?

He starts toward it, super soldier eyes navigating through the darkness. Just before he reaches the light, a startled hum of electricity crackles around them, a generator bursting to life. Whirling around, finger hovering over the trigger, he finds her standing by the wall, her hand wrapped around the t-shaped handle of a giant light switch.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, using his shoulder to wipe away the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Scared the shit out of me.”

Above the switch, he notices a water-stained Hydra propaganda poster depicting a faded red skull, tentacles reaching into a black pit of writhing, silhouetted bodies. Christ. He remembers those posters. They were tacked up around the bases back in the early 1950s. Some lousy intern’s job, he supposes. Hydra marketing for a summer job.

Assholes.

“We can’t all see in the dark,” she reminds him patiently, brushing the dust from her hands.

“Fair enough,” he says weakly, heart still pounding.

In the dingy light, the control dashboard looks as dirty and untouched as his last visit, coated in a thick layer of filth that only exists with decades of neglect. But in the right-hand corner, the red light blinks steadily.

Bucky’s perturbed. Is he missing something? Is there something else going on?

Right there, the first flash of fear prickles up his neck, lodging sharp claws into his skin.

Scanning the dashboard, he sees the breakers he flipped before, cutting power to the control center. All of them are still clearly locked in the OFF position, so he breathes a sigh of relief - just like the light switch she found, there must be some kind of secondary power source.

He debates the complex panel, searches the buttons and keys and slides and comes up empty. Unless Hydra gave him explicitly detailed instructions, he was never good with tech shit like this. What’s he supposed to do? Dismantle the entire dashboard? Search for a general power source?

In the end, he chooses a slightly different route.

“Cover your ears.”

She looks warily at him, her hands slowly rising to her head.

“Here goes,” Bucky mumbles to himself and with a swing, he smashes a metal fist straight through the dashboard. The sound explodes through the room, pieces of grey plastic and black metal and glass bulbs ricocheting off the wall. Jerking his hand back, he comes up with a fistful of electrical wires and the blinking red light goes dark.

“Problem solved,” he turns to her, the wires dangling like a handful of snakes.

The sound of his blunt dismantling still reverberates through the room, and she stands tense and frozen.

“What else was here?” her voice is low. Unlike Bucky, she seems afraid to make much noise.

“Not much,” Bucky admits, tossing the wires aside. “Searched it last time, nothing useful. Looks like it was abandoned sometime in the ‘50s.” He motions back to the far wall with the gun. “There’s a small office over there, we can have a look around if you want.”

There’s no reason for it, but something about the place puts her off kilter. Following Bucky’s direction, she moves toward the office, unsure what she expects to find, but inside is exactly what he said - nothing. A small desk and file cabinet on one side, a pair of broken metal folding chairs against a brick wall, a pile of crumpled papers on the desk.

“Went through it all,” Bucky confirms, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. “Desk was empty, file cabinet had a few papers, looks like office inventory. Doesn’t seem like they left anything behind.”

She hums in agreement, peeking into the file cabinets and finding nothing but more dust and the moldering remains of a dead mouse. She turns in a slow circle, eyes tracing the angles of the small room, and she finds nothing. Breathes easier.

Although - wait.

Stepping closer to the wall behind the desk, she runs her fingers lightly across the brick, touching here and there. Bucky watches intently, the way her hands move in random patterns. Several minutes pass in absolute silence, until suddenly she stops. Pressing against a single brick, she wiggles it, crumbling white mortar shaking loose to the floor, and then the brick pulls free.

Behind is a deep, hollow space.

“What - ” Bucky says, coming closer. “How? How did you know?”

There’s an emptiness in her face when she looks at him. “I’ve been hiding things in floorboards and fireplaces and - walls, most of my life.” Her voice sounds infinitely tired, like the years have finally caught up. “I know what to look for.”

Bucky shines a flashlight into the dark space and they see a fat bundle of paper. Reaching in, she tugs gently, the rough brick unwilling to reveal its secret so easily. When it finally pops free, they find a folded envelope. Brushing away the layers of dust, the faded scrawl of cursive handwriting is splashed carelessly across the front, with two words:

VERSION 2.

Wordlessly, she looks at him and Bucky shakes his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I don’t know what it means.”

She runs her fingers beneath the envelope flap to pull it open, but Bucky stops her, glancing over his shoulder.

“What?” she asks, immediately on alert. “Did you hear something?”

“No, but can we wait until we get home? I just - don’t want you here any longer.” He says the words without thinking and flinches. When we get home? You idiot, you’ll scare her off with that shit. It’s not your home, it’s hers.

But while Bucky frets over his word choice, he notices something. That look of exhaustion and sadness filling her eyes - it disappears. Like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. She reaches for his hand, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him close. Tucking herself against him, she hugs him tight and Bucky holds on fiercely.

“Okay,” she agrees softly. “Let’s go home.”

And just like that, Bucky Barnes has a home.

Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he squeezes her hand and they walk toward the door, ready to leave this depressing world behind.

His brain is already plowing ahead, remembering warm blankets and the smell of hot soup and the sound of a crackling fire, all things he now associates with her, associates with happiness. His brain and his heart want it so damn badly, he nearly misses it.

Just before they pass through the door, a strange gust of air, ice cold and smelling of snow.

He stops so fast, she bumps into him. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he turns to the blank wall, eyes roaming over the faded brick.

“Did you feel that?” He glances over his shoulder. Her mouth is turned down and she rubs her nose when it smacked his shoulder.

“Yes,” she says tightly.

Stepping closer, Bucky runs his hands over the brick, searching for the source. Bending down, he freezes, seeing something new, something he knows wasn’t there before. He recognizes it instantly, an unfortunate currency he dealt for decades.

Blood speckled across the brick. A small piece of human skin embedded in the mortar. Dried, but no more than a few weeks old.

Someone was here.

“God dammit,” he hisses, jumping to his feet. “Fucking fuck!”

She kneels beside the wall, absorbing the gruesome details. “That’s new?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” he says shortly.

She looks around the office, back in the control room. Remembers Bucky describing the welded shut door at the entrance. “You said the entrance was sealed shut when you first arrived. Could this be the same person? How would they get inside in the first place?”

The icy whistle of wind hits his face again. Leaning into the wall, he pushes, testing a few different points. “Please don’t be a secret door,” he mutters under his breath, but with a sudden grating rumble, it slides back.

Revealing a secret door. He hates secret doors.

Stark would love this.

A long, dark tunnel appears. Tapping anxiously against his leg, he debates - he doesn’t want her to follow, but he’s sure as hell not leaving her alone. He turns around, but she settles it instantly.

“Just go. I’m coming with you.”

Propping the flashlight on his wrist again, Bucky clicks it on and positions the gun. Starting forward, he hunches over, bending to fit his tall frame beneath the low ceiling. For ten minutes they walk, encountering nothing more than ice slicked walls and a hard-packed dirt floor. Finally, the darkness begins to fade, a dim grey light crawling into the spaces around them. Turning a sharp corner, they find the source.

A large metal door sits askew, propped open and allowing slivers of light and cold air to filter through. Coming closer, Bucky discovers the door hinges are unscrewed, a little pile of broken metal and stripped screws littering the ground.

Wrapping a metal hand around the edge of the door, he looks back to her. “Be ready,” he murmurs, nodding to the gun. She raises it, her hands steady and returns his nod. With a rough jerk, Bucky pulls the door fully open, the grate of rust and metal screeching around them.

On the other side, they find a thin fissure in the grey rock of the mountain. Protected from the drifts of snow outside, wide enough for someone to fit through - but hidden well enough that no one would ever think twice.

And there, lying next to the door, is a black wool glove. Threadbare, with an unraveled hole in the thumb, it looks perfectly clean. Clearly a recent addition. Bucky picks it up, that sinking feeling in his chest now bubbling like acid in his throat. He shoves the glove furiously in his pocket.

“You fuckers,” he growls to himself. Turning around, he meets her wide-eyed gaze, panic clear in her face. She still has the gun raised, but now he sees the hint of a tremble in her fingers.

He’d give his entire life to erase that look.

“Hey, come here,” he murmurs, and she steps quickly into his embrace and once more, he holds tight. Holding her this close, he smells the faint, calming scent of her lotion. “Let’s go home. I need to make a call.”

*****

“Anything?”

Once again, Steve Rogers is eating giant globs of peanut butter straight from the jar. Wasting no time, Bucky gets straight to the point.

“Someone was there. Found a back entrance they must’ve used. Assume they turned on the signal.”

Steve swears and the spoon clatters to the kitchen counter.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky snaps.

“What the fuck did they want?”

“I don’t know.”

“No possible scenarios?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky grits out, pissed with Steve’s exasperated sigh. “I’m fuckin’ working on it. Give me a minute to think.”

Steve rubs his forehead. The expression on his face morphs, an odd mix of frustration and enforced calm, with a sprinkle of suspicion.

“The other reason you’re there,” he asks carefully. “The reason you’ve stayed. Whatever that is, could it have anything to do with this?”

Bucky opens his mouth to refute that possibility, because fuck you Steve, of course not - but then he pulls up short. That’s the thing. He doesn’t know. She still hasn’t told him her ability and why it ever allowed her to know the scope of Hydra’s brutality. This is one big piece of the puzzle that remains hidden.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Looking out of the bedroom, his gaze grows thoughtful. “But I’ll find out.”

*****

Downstairs in the cozy little cabin, she opens the dusty envelope.

Inside, she finds 14 photographs. They’re old, a sepia toned mix from the 1940s and 1950s, their occupants slightly blurry and peeling around the edges. On her kitchen counter, she lines them up in two straight rows.

She stares.

She begins to shake.

“Darlin, can we talk about something?”

Bucky’s voice is low and soothing, meant for comfort. Walking up beside her, he peers curiously at her profile. Slowly she turns, and the look on her face cuts him to the bone.

“Bucky - “

Cold sweat fills the palms of her hands where they lay flat on the counter and a shudder ripples through her, rattling her entire body. He moves quickly behind her, pressing himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her, surrounding her in that blessed heat.

“Hey, hey, what is it?”

Over her shoulder, he sees the images.

There are two group photos, each showing four men posing. Three of the men are dressed in white lab coats, horn-rimmed coke bottle glasses perched on their noses. The fourth stands a head above them, dressed head to toe in black, his white-blond hair gleaming even in the faded photo. Bucky’s lip curls in disgust - an SS officer, from the looks.

Until he looks closer. Something about the man’s arrogant sneer and icy stare sparks a long-forgotten memory. Bucky squints.

“Hang on. I think I remember him,” he says slowly. “He was there my first few years, but then he disappeared. Deserted, they said.”

“Deserted,” she repeats. She gives a hollow laugh. “I doubt that.”

Bucky should interrogate that comment, but he sets it aside for a moment. Returning to the pictures, he looks at the second row. The images are consistent, six full body pictures of a naked male, each accompanied by a close-up headshot - twelve photos in total. A small postcard is clipped to each pair of photos, block print letters with details.

This is familiar. Not the men themselves, but the visual and the information. Familiar, because long ago, the former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes started with a file just like this.

Name. Country. Rank. Skills.

In the beginning, he supposes his was just as simple and basic. Until the graciousness of cryofreeze carried him through the decades, turning his paper-thin file fat with Hydra accomplishments. Assassination, murder, torture. All those details that made up the shadowy outline of the Winter Soldier.

Suddenly, he gets it.

Version 2.

Bucky knows that while he may have been the first successful super soldier Hydra created, he was by no means the only experiment. Proof of that assumption is lined up on the table before him. Soldiers and special skills categorized alphabetically in what he realizes is evidence of Hydra’s original super soldier trials.

The information is massive. He needs to call Steve, but there are shallow, panicked gasps bleeding from her throat, and he refuses to set that aside, because she is his priority - he turns her firmly to face him.

“Look at me. Darlin’, look at me. What is it?”

Wild eyes search his, so full of despair. Sweat slick fingers point to a pair of photos, depicting a tall, thin boy with curly black hair and vacant eyes.

Bucky looks closer and sees the information listed on the card.

NAME: Lewis, Henry.

COUNTRY: United Kingdom.

RANK: Lieutenant.

SKILLS: Espionage. Technology.

“I know him,” her voice cracks. She pauses and corrects herself. “I mean, I knew him.”

More than anything, he wants to ask about her past. Who she was before she found him broken and bleeding that day in her village. What she went through all those years ago that shaped her into the wary person she became. What secret she carries that weighs so heavily on her soul.

But he promised he wouldn’t. He knows the pain of having other people digging into his past, what it feels like to feel like to reveal your darkest secrets. He knows he needs to tread lightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks carefully.

“No,” she whispers, staring down at her hands. “But I need to.”

He takes her chilly fingers in his and rubs, quick friction warming them.

“Okay,” he encourages. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

She stares at their entwined hands and curls her finger tight around his silver thumb.

“I don’t think you’ll like me very much. When you know.”

Bucky feels a hysterical desire to laugh. Not like her? Absurd. How could he not love her? Smiling wryly, he brings their hands up and leaves a kiss on her knuckles.

“Between the two of us, my track record will always be worse. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind, so don’t worry about that. Just tell me.”

Gathering her courage, she looks up to meet soft blue eyes.

And she talks.

“When I was 12-years-old, a group of men came to my home. The - blond man. He was looking for me. They arrested my Father and I ran. As far from Berlin as I could get.” Closing her eyes, the memory of that black night burns fresh. “I made it to the coast and bought the first ticket out of Germany I found. In March of 1929, I got to London.”

Bucky imagines her as a little girl, alone, penniless, mourning her father and hiding from an unknown horror. It makes him want to raze the world for her.

“That was brave. You were really brave,” he tells her, still rubbing her skin, but she shakes her head.

“That’s where I met him.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

[oblio-k]

hh just realized i forgot to post this here lmao. anyways here’s a fic about my AU where Ziyal has an older bajoran half brother named Linaan who loves & supports her even though he’s terrified of her friends because she deserves a blood relative that truly cares about her and can be there for her when Kira can’t. past Dukat/Tora Naprem & Naprem/female OC

After All This Time

Ziyal could remember her mother quite clearly. Her memory wasn’t as great as the average Cardassian, but she remembered people very well. Her mother was tall, with a fire in her deep brown eyes. She was warm, much warmer than her father, and Ziyal recalled her jokingly referring to herself as a living heat pack on more than one occasion. She was kind, but passionate, and made sure to teach Ziyal all about Bajor, alongside her Cardassian studies. Sometimes, she would look sad, but always cheered up after focusing on her.

Sighing, Ziyal stared down at the cup of tea in her hands. She missed her mother. Although she’d had many years to get over it, it was still difficult, at times. To go from always being with her mother in safety and comfort, to watching the life drain from her and being dragged off to work in the Breen mines.

The station was lonely. Sure, she had Nerys, which she was very thankful for, and she was developing some sort of friendship with Garak, but other than those two, she didn’t have anyone she was close to. Her father wasn’t on the station, so there wasn’t anyone she felt like she could call family. Eventually, she hoped, she would be permitted to be Nerys’ family, but that would take time.

Her depressed mood continued, much to her dismay. Garak was busy in his shop, and Nerys had to cancel their springball practice due to some kind of minor station emergency. Something about security, and Nerys had sounded guilty about missing another opportunity to spend time together. Ziyal couldn’t help but feel miserable. Painting would clear her up, no doubt, but her quarters were so far, and she hadn’t touched her cup of tea...

She took a sip from it, frowning when she realized it had started to go cold. There was no use in forcing herself to drink it. It would just make her feel worse. Returning it to the replicator took barely any time at all. For once, the replimat was sparse. A Bajoran couple sat at a table far away from her, and a few Starfleet officers were catching a break at various tables. One of the shopkeepers was typing on a padd, a mug next to them.

Sitting back at her table, she lifted up her sketchbook and decided to try drawing something to distract her mind.

When she ended up with a sketch of her mother’s face, she sighed again and closed the book.

“Excuse me, miss, but are you Tora Ziyal?”

Ziyal looked up to see a Bajoran man standing a few feet away from her. Something about him seemed familiar, though she was sure she had never seen him before. He looked nervous, fiddling with his earring.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Good. May I sit here?” He gestured to the seat opposite of hers. A bit nervous herself, she nodded. He sat, and stared at her. “Hm, you really do look like her.”

Like who? “You look familiar, yourself. May I ask your name?”

“Oh, we’ve never met.” He lowered his hand. “My name is Tora Linaan. I... I suppose I’m your half brother.”

“My half brother?” she echoed, surprised.

“Through our mother, Tora Naprem. When I heard you were- well, that you existed, I had to come see for myself. You have her nose ridges, so I suppose the rumors are true.”

“You have her nose ridges too. And her family symbol.” She was suspicious. Surgical alteration was very simple, and it was easy enough to get a fake earring.

“Yeah. You don’t wear an d’ja pagh?”

“Ah, no... I don’t know much about the Bajoran religion. Major Kira has been trying to teach me.” It was the truth, and she hoped that by saying Nerys’ name, it would deter the man if he was a fake trying to hurt her in some way. “Mother didn’t teach me too much about it.”

“It was never very important to her, huh? My mum hated that about her. She’d tell me, ‘Linaan, your mother was a wonderful woman, but she was spiritually lacking. Don’t end up like that.’ I wish she’d gotten over that.” He looked down, sadness in his eyes. “After what she did for us...”

“Linaan?”

“Ah- sorry, I shouldn’t bring up bad things.” He smiled at her. “This is a blessed day, I’ve finally met my sister! I do hope you’ll accept me as family. You’re all I have left. It’s... It’s been very lonely on Bajor, since my mum died.”

He sounded so sincere, maybe he was telling the truth after all. Could that be why her mother sometimes looked so sad, remembering a son and wife she’d left behind on Bajor for a new, Cardassian family?

“I would love to continue talking to you, Linaan.”

“Great! Would you like me to go get some tea? I have so many questions for you, and I imagine you’ll have plenty for me.”

“No, I’m alright.”

-

Linaan seemed to get over his nervousness after telling her a few things about himself. He was twenty-eight years old, a research assistant in a university, and spent most of his time organizing things for the professors and scientists there. He lived by himself in a small house in Ashalla, and wasn’t on very good terms with his neighbors for reasons he chose not to elaborate on.

“Mother never mentioned living in Ashalla.”

“Oh, no, Mother never lived with us.”

“She didn’t?”

“Mother called me an unexpected blessing from the prophets. She stayed in her home province, but visited us often. Occasionally, we would visit her.”

“She said the same thing about me.”

Linaan tilted his head. “Oh, you don’t believe me, do you?”

“Well-”

He chuckled. “I suspected you wouldn’t. If you’d like, we can go to the infirmary and run a genetic test.”

Once again, she was surprised. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. I want you to see me as family. Then we can really talk, instead of you listening to me rambling on about my life.”

-

Doctor Bashir had a moment of free time, and was happy to run the test for them. Linaan didn’t look worried at all, and Ziyal started to wonder if he really was telling the truth. It would be nice to have a relative living on Bajor. He seemed to really want to connect with her. Perhaps he could visit often, or call her whenever he wasn’t too busy at the university, if he was being honest.

As the computer ran through its scan, she began to feel hopeful. This could be the solution to her loneliness. Maybe the station wouldn’t feel so isolating anymore, with a family member just a few hours, a video call away.

“Results ready,” the computer announced.

“It’s a match,” Doctor Bashir said, shocked, looking at the screen. “You’re really half siblings.”

Linaan gave her a wide, tilted grin, just like their mother’s, and she beamed back. He put an arm around her shoulders. “We have a lot of catching up to do, Ziyal! Should we go back to the replimat? I’m afraid I don’t know the station at all.”

“I know a quiet place in one of the pylons we could talk.” She bid Doctor Bashir a quick thanks and goodbye, and then started walking. Linaan followed her. “Oh, then I want to introduce you to Major Kira! She’s the one who brought me here, and has been looking after me.”

“Do you have many friends on board?”

“Not really... Most people only see me as Cardassian, or avoid me once they know who my father is.”

“I was very surprised when I found out Mother had promised herself to him. But I figured that she probably raised you mostly by herself, so you would be a nice person.”

“We lived on the station during the Occupation, in my father’s quarters.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Was your father good to you?”

“He was, and is. He loves me very much.”

“That’s good. So, do you have any friends at all? Besides Major Kira. If you don’t, I’ll help you find some friends at the university. One of my coworkers is a hybrid, like you. I could introduce you to her.”

Kira had suggested finding friends for her, but Ziyal didn’t want people to feel obligated to befriend her. “No, it’s alright. The senior staff is very kind to me, and I’m friends with the tailor on board. He and I eat lunch together with Doctor Bashir and sometimes go to the holosuite.”

“A tailor? Did he make this dress for you?”

She nodded. “Do you have many friends?”

“Oh, um... Not nearly, actually. Not after... Well, my reputation took a bit of a down turn recently, and I had to cut a lot of people from my personal life. The hybrid I mentioned, though, we’ve become good friends.”

“Did something happen?”

“Well...” He looked a bit guilty. “I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to Mother, and when it got out that you existed, uh... Everyone around me called Mother a collaborator, and shunned me for defending her. I’ve always been kind to Teya, as well, and any of the war orphans I saw, so they called me a Cardassian sympathizer.”

“Oh.”

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. Well, I don’t like them saying bad things about our mother, but I still have my job, and the professors can’t find fault with my work. Enough about me. What do you do on the station?”

“I’m an artist. I do paintings.”

“That’s amazing! I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

“That’s what Nerys says. Major Kira.” She couldn’t wait to introduce them. “You guys have something in common already, I’m sure she’ll like you.”

“Perhaps I could meet your tailor friend too. I could use a new shirt.”

-

They sat down by a viewport and talked for what had to be hours, exchanging stories. Linaan was uncomfortable talking about his time in various work camps, and Ziyal avoided too much discussion about her time in the Breen mine. She didn’t even talk about that with her father, and she had a feeling they both shared the desire to forget their time in those places.

Linaan told her how her mother had been transferred to Terok Nor after they were all captured for the work camp while visiting her, how after a while they began receiving better rations than the other workers. “They wanted to take Mum, but Mother begged the soldiers to take her instead. She told me she was doing it to protect us, had heard that the Bajoran women who cooperated got special treatment for their family.”

“Nerys told me about that, too.”

“We worried about her. Mum thought it was a stupid idea, because they weren’t married, and it wasn’t actually on the records at the time that I was Mother’s son. I had to go register myself after the Occupation ended. All I had to prove it was my d’ja pagh.”

“I wonder why Mother never told me about you...”

“How would have you felt if you’d known, then?”

“Guilty, I suppose.”

“She wouldn’t have wanted to upset you. And don’t feel that way now. I don’t blame you for her never coming back. I’m glad that we have each other now.”

“Do you think she ever told my father about you?”

Linaan shrugged. “She did whatever she could to protect us. I suppose you could ask your father, but, ah...”

“What is it?”

“Well, if you choose to ask him, please ask over video. I don’t want to be introduced to him in person.” She could understand that. “I still haven’t gotten used to the idea that Mother sired a child with the Prefect, of all people.”

She smiled. “But the Cardassian part you got over?”

“Mostly. I’m still wrapping my head around that. Cardassians never seemed the type to like submitting to Bajorans.”

“My father has different tastes than most Cardassians.” And it got him in so much trouble. She sighed when she thought about how much effort he put into trying to charm Nerys and Captain Sisko. “It’s embarrassing, really.”

“How many siblings do you have, again? Six?”

“Seven.”

“Are you sure?”

She buried her face in her hands. The thought had admittedly occurred to her many times. When she’d been introduced to her father’s family, his wife had asked if Ziyal was the only one. She couldn’t be sure it was true when he had promised that Ziyal was the only child outside of their marriage he’d had. Sure, she believed she was the only one he’d carried himself, but had he fathered any others? “I don’t know,” she quietly bemoaned.

Linaan patted her shoulder in comfort. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Sighing, she uncovered her face and said, “At least out of eight half siblings, I have one that didn’t hate me on sight.”

“And I’m glad to have one of one half siblings that gave me a chance to prove myself as real. Shall we go find Major Kira? I’m getting hungry, we could invite her to lunch. Or dinner. What time is it?”

-

They found Nerys near the security office. She was frowning at a padd, no doubt some criminal activity report she’d picked up from Odo. Ziyal took Linaan’s wrist in her hand and waved to her. “Nerys!”

“Ziyal.” She eyed Linaan warily. “Who is this?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Major Kira. My name is Tora Linaan.”

“Tora?”

“This is my older brother. We have the same mother.” Nerys looked suspicious. “Doctor Bashir confirmed it earlier.”

“How long have you been on the station?”

“Since 1100. Ziyal has told me much about you. Thank you for looking out for her all this time, and being such a good friend.”

“I’m just doing what’s right. Where do you live?”

Ah, her brother was being interrogated. She supposed she should have expected it. At least Linaan didn’t seem to mind her wariness. “Ashalla. I work at the university. Would you like to come eat with us? I can answer all the questions you like over dinner.”

“Sure. Ziyal, do you mind if I ask Odo to come with us?”

Goodness, it really would be an interrogation. She nodded anyways.

-

“So, you’ve never met Gul Dukat?”

“No. I wasn’t even aware our mother had met him until last week. Ziyal is going to ask him if he knew about me. I’m rather curious as to whether or not Mother mentioned my mum and I to him.”

Odo huffed. “I imagine he’ll drop by for a visit to make sure you’re really Ziyal’s brother, regardless of the answer.”

“I’ll mentally prepare for an interrogation.”

Nerys poked at her hasperat. “You keep mentioning that you have two mothers. Was your mum your real sire or just adoptive?”

“Oh, no, Mum is my biological bearer. I look more like her than I do to Mother.”

“Wait- Naprem is your sire? But, Ziyal-”

“My father carried me.”

“What?”

“Cardassians don’t have the same reproductive system as Bajorans. Any Cardassian, provided they’re fertile, can bear children.” Linaan answered.

Ziyal nodded. “It’s more difficult for some than others to conceive and give birth naturally depending where they fall on the spectrum. Father is on the ‘male’ end, while I’m more on the ‘female’ end. Male being easier to sire, female being easier to bear.”

“Wait, Linaan, how did you know that? I didn’t even know that.”

“One of my coworkers is a hybrid. She mentioned it to me when we volunteered at the orphanage.”

“Odo, did you know that?”

“Certainly not.”

“You really didn’t know that? Ziyal, did you ever say anything?”

“I’ve mentioned where I fall on the spectrum to Doctor Bashir, but he already knew about it.”

Odo had had enough of discussing Cardassian biology and changed the subject. “Linaan, where were you during the Occupation, if your mother was on the station?”

“In work camps. None that got liberated, unfortunately. I was working until the day the Cardassians withdrew.” He prodded at his food. “Well, I’d rather like to forget what the camps were like. Major, Ziyal told me you and her play springball together? Perhaps I could watch, one day.”

“I told you, I’m not very good at it.”

“Springball takes practice, Ziyal.”

-

“Garak!” Ziyal spotted Garak the next day, and pulled Linaan over to him. “Garak, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

He turned when he heard her voice, and gave the two of them a polite smile. “Ziyal. How are you this morning?”

“I’m doing well! I’d like you to meet my older brother, Tora Linaan! Linaan, this is my friend, the tailor.”

“Oh, you didn’t mention he was Cardassian.”

“That isn’t a problem, is it, my dear boy?”

“No, I just... Have had a lot of Cardassian surprises this week. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Garak.”

“Please, just Garak.”

“Garak. I’d like to thank you for looking out for my sister. She speaks very fondly of you.”

Ziyal noticed something. “You don’t look very surprised.”

“I admit, my dear, that Doctor Bashir told me the news yesterday. No doubt the Major interrogated you all night, so I’ll spare you the same treatment.”

“Did you do a background check on him?”

He raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. “My dear, I would never break into someone’s personal records! That’s quite illegal.”

“Yes, but you did it anyways, didn’t you?”

“Oh, it’s alright, Ziyal,” Linaan assured. “I’ve had my records picked apart by the university, having them checked by your friends doesn’t make any difference. I’m glad they care so much about you to do that.”

“I’m sure your records prove that you’re a good person.” He looked away, nervous again. She frowned. “Linaan?”

“Ah, well, I don’t have a criminal record or anything, it’s just... You know how I said it wasn’t on the records that I was Mother’s son?”

“Yes.”

“There aren’t actually... any records of me before I walked into a government building and asked to be registered. Legally, I didn’t exist until after the Occupation. Any record of my existence in the work camps was erased during the Cardassian withdrawal.” He reached up to fiddle with his earring. “It’s pretty suspicious, really.”

Garak nodded. “If it wasn’t for Doctor Bashir’s genetic test, you would have no real evidence of being Tora Naprem’s son. Ziyal, I imagine your father won’t take that well.”

-

“Father, no!” Ziyal was impressed at how well Linaan was handling being accused of being a fake while being slammed against a wall. “Linaan isn’t lying!”

“Naprem would never have kept a child hidden from me!”

“She did- My bearer and I received extra rations, she must have lied about who we were. Did she ever ask you to help a woman named Aako Ceri?”

Her father paused to think. “She asked to give better rations to her friend Aako and her family.”

“Mum hated her, because she didn’t have faith in the Prophets. They couldn’t tell anyone about me, because Mother was from such a low d’jarra.” Linaan gasped for breath. “Why would I lie about this?”

“To hurt my daughter in order to get revenge against me, the head of the Occupation.”

Linaan looked over at Ziyal, and she couldn’t believe he was taking the time to acknowledge that that was a good point. “Linaan... Really?”

“I told you my record was suspicious, sister.”

“Don’t agree with him!” Goodness, it was like he was trying to get himself strangled.

“Well, you have to admit that it’s a good plan.” Linaan frowned at her. “You really were too trusting of me when I approached you. I’m worried, now.”

“Stop talking to my daughter!”

Ziyal grabbed her father’s arm and tried to tug him away. “Father, please! Doctor Bashir did a genetic test- he’s really my half-brother!”

“That was a Federation test, sister, why should he believe it?”

“You’re not helping, Linaan!” she scolded. To her father she suggested, “Why don’t we go onto your ship and perform a test there?”

Scowling, her father reluctantly agreed. Linaan gasped for breath when he was released, and winced as her father grabbed his arms and pushed him forward. “Let’s go.”

-

“This can’t be real!”

While her father had some sort of crisis at the positive match the computer was displaying, Ziyal found a dermal regenerator and brought it over to Linaan to heal the bruises that were beginning to form on his arms and neck. Bajorans had sensitive skin like humans, so his skin was already turning all sorts of different shades.

The bruises faded with a few swipes of the regenerator, and Linaan rubbed the spots they’d been. “Thank you, Ziyal.” He gave her a small smile, and squeezed her hand. Then he looked past her at her father. “I’m willing to answer any questions you may have, sir. If you’re still worried, you can check my answers with Major Kira and Constable Odo. They questioned me as well.”

“Why wouldn’t Naprem tell me about you?”

“Mother always wanted to protect us. I’m certain she believed that keeping my mum and I a secret from you was for our own good.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt you. She should have known that, after I promised to protect our daughter.”

Ziyal decided not to bring up the fact that he had intended to kill her when he found her in the Breen mine. Now wasn’t a good time for her to say anything.

“I don’t really know, sir. Whatever her reasoning, I know she never meant to hurt you or Ziyal. Tora Naprem wasn’t that kind of person.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

[happiestholland-blog]

Coffee Shop: Chapter 2

Fuckboy Tom AU!! TomHollandxReader

Summary: You and Tom meet again, a little hang out with Harrison !!!???

Word Count: 2682

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex

A/N: Chapter 2! I’m so sorry I ended this so lazily. The second half of my summer classes just started.

(Y/H/T) your hometown 

After linking up with another nameless woman from the bar, this time brunette, Tom didn’t see Harrison for the rest of the night. Instead he took his partner for the night up to his apartment and was blissfully reminded of the pact he made to himself that this was the life he wanted to live. No commitment, no real feelings, not getting hurt. Luckily enough, his latest companion left when it was over; no questions asked, and no further intimacies, nothing. She didn’t even ask him for his name or fight before she left. She barely even thanked him for their dirty work. He woke up alone, feeling pleased with himself. He checked the time on his phone and realized that he was due to meet you in the coffee shop in thirty minutes. This time he felt more prepared. His encounter with his last companion reassured him that he was capable of being with someone without catching feelings. He felt better prepared with that reminder; you’re just another girl he can easily bring up to his room for a one night stand. Easy and disposable. Tom even made a point of coming late by thirty minutes to show that he was in control of the situation with you; that he didn’t care enough to even come on time. He made his way to the coffee shop with a smug expression on his face, sure that things would go his way, but of course they wouldn’t. This morning, your hair is a little messy, pulled back in a bun, loose tendrils trickling around the sides of your pretty face. You wore a comfy knit sweater over a little skirt over tights, your coat hanging on the back of your chair, and your red backpack at your feet. Tom’s reassurance melted away like a popsicle on a hot summer day. You smiled a sweet smile at the sight of him and Tom’s mental popsicle with its wooden stick burned away under the heat of your warm smile. You didn’t even seem to mind that he was late, because you had busied yourself in that little notebook of sketches you were working on.

“Good morning Tom,” you smiled up at him, your mug clutched in your hands. “I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I grabbed a coffee for you, asked them to leave room for cream and sugar if you wanted.” You were a little concerned he wasn’t going to show. You knew so little about him because he had been closed off the day before, but here he was--late, but here.

“Morning, (y/n),” Tom  replied sheepishly, unable to keep a smile from spreading across his lips. He suddenly felt sorry for being late, for the first time, maybe ever for a girl. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

You shrug, your smile never falling from your lips. “Eh, it’s no big deal. $3 is nothing. My treat. But today, you’re gonna let me know what your actual coffee order is, so I know for next time, okay?”

Tom smirked. “Some treat, you big spender,” he teases, but his smile never leaves his lips. “But seriously, thank you.” He hasn’t had a girl do anything like this in while. No girl has ever cared enough to ask him for his coffee order. He had never let anyone care. But with you? It was a whole different story. He didn’t let you care, but you refused to be pushed away. Tom forgot about the girl from the night before. Suddenly he was an open book, and he wanted to know everything about you. He took his seat across from you, and pours cream into his coffee with a tiny dash of sugar.

“So… your coffee order?” you ask expectantly, lifting your mug to tap against his for a toast.

He smiles at the gesture, sipping off the top of his mug to avoid spilling his coffee everywhere before tapping the mug against yours. “Hm, I’m just a coffee kind of guy. Or tea. Can’t go wrong with an Earl Grey with sugar, or a coffee with a splash of cream and two packets of sugar,” he replies.

“Noted,” you giggle. “How was your night?”

Tom froze, suddenly remembering his promise to himself. He set the mug down and leaned back in his chair, tilting his chin up, giving you a view of his defined jawline and slightly crooked nose. “You know,” he starts. “Went out with a friend of mine, had a few drinks, met a girl or two,” he finishes, purposefully not asking you about your own night.

You feel your own expression sour slightly. “Oh, sounds fun,” you try to sound chipper.

He nods, sipping his coffee, willing himself to not ask you about your night, though he hopes you’ll tell him anyway. You could probably make knitting sound interesting with that voice of yours.

“Well, um, I stayed in. Couldn’t sleep because of my noisy neighbor upstairs. He has someone over almost every night, or he’s angry and yelling about something. But I watched some shows on netflix, painted a bit,” you say hopefully, trying to regain footing in the conversation after you realize how much disappointment you displayed.

Looking at you, with the slight sadness in your eyes, his heart feels heavy. Tom knows you don’t deserve this treatment when you treated him with kindness, and he feels awful about it.To his surprise, he really felt almost a pain in his stomach when he had to pretend he didn’t care about what you did. “You paint?” he asked softly. He couldn’t help it. There was something about your simple and quiet life that seemed comforting to him. He could picture it; your hands and face smudged with paint streaks, you standing before your easel with a palette in hand.

You nod, tucking a tendril of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes. It’s really just an on-the-side type of thing.”

He swallows. There’s sweetness in everything you do, although he’s never seen your work or even known you for all that long. His heart hurts in his chest knowing that he couldn’t bear to treat you like he’s treated every girl. For the first time, Tom changed his pact to himself. Though he won’t let himself fall for you and swears on it, he’ll do anything to not treat you like the other girls he’s treated so poorly. He seals the events of the night before into his memory to keep a constant reminder that he doesn’t want commitment and that life is easier without trusting or letting anyone get close to him while deciding that he can be every kind of kindness to you while staying true to his pact to not get too close to you. The two of you will just stay friends. He won’t catch feelings. He reminds himself that he has to leave for London for the filming of the next Spider-man movie in two or so weeks. He decides that he could manage his feelings at least until then, and then hopefully, never see you again before whatever he was feeling got too intense.

“That’s amazing. Do you think you could show me?” he asks.

You look at him in confusion at his rapid changes in manner. “I mean, yeah, I could someday. I don’t have any paintings on me right now,” you laugh cautiously.

Tom brings his eyes to yours finally. “I think I would like that.” His voice is soft and full of sincerity, erasing your doubts. And once his eyes were on yours, he found himself unable to look away. So instead, he has to force his attention onto the spoon in his mug. Desperate to change the subject, he asks, “Do you have any pets?”

You rest your chin on your hand and sigh. “Yeah, I have a dog, but you know, it’s tough having a dog in the city. So he lives back home with my parents, and you?”

Tom looks away again. Another dodge-y subject. His family. “Yeah, a dog. Her name’s Tessa. Lives back home in London.”

“You must miss her a lot,” you answer honestly. You miss your own dog like mad.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“And you’re obviously from London, you know, just judging by your accent,” you say, testing the water and the boundaries he was setting by his changes in manner.

He nods again, stirring his coffee with his spoon. “Born and raised, a native of southwest London, darling,” he says. “And you?”

“(y/h/t),” you reply promptly. “Also born and raised, until I came here obviously.”

Tom smiles, though feeling panic at the conversation of home towns. “This seems a bit random, but since you were so kind to ask for my coffee order, it’s only fair that I know yours as well,” he says lightly, in a quietly desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from this personal life.

A sunny smile spread across your face. “I like coffee, light and sweet, with a dash of cinnamon. Or a green tea with a spoonful of honey. Can’t go wrong with either,” you answer truthfully.

“Noted,” he says simply, borrowing your phrase, earning him a smile from you.

You stir your spoon in your mug. “So your hobbies… Tell me about something you like to do, Tom,” you look up at him with hope in your eyes.

He face turns a shade of red. “Besides acting, I like working out,” he says, straightening his posture in his seat. “Basic gymnastics stuff, did some dance for a bit--”

“Dance?” you accidentally cut him off. “What kind? Would you care to show me your moves?”

Tom is amused by your enthusiasm, but he shakes his head. “I used to do ballet when I was younger,” he states. “Maybe someday I can show you a twirl or two.” Tom wants to smack himself in the forehead for the last admission. Ballet isn’t something girls consider hot. Guys don’t twirl. But instead of disgust and mockery, he finds genuine interest in your eyes.

You laugh pleasantly. “That’s not something you hear about guys doing very often,” you giggle. “I have to see this twirling sometime soon, I’m holding you to that, Tom.”

Your laugh to Tom is like something else. Otherworldly. Unreal. Enchanting. It sounds like all the good things in the world combined into one. Tom is surprised to find his voice choke up in his throat when he tries to speak again, his voice coming out as a squeak. He coughs, and clears his throat, looking over at you in embarrassment, but your sweet smile is a constant. “One day, (y/n),” he replied, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Taking a sip from your drink, you smile. “Wow these ‘One Day’s’ are stacking up,” you reply.

Tom hesitates before replying. “We’ll get to them all.”

“Is that a promise?”

Tom is taken aback by that word. Promise. He didn’t trust that word, yet he found himself trusting it when you said it. “I promise,” he replied, and he meant it.

----

That night returning to your apartment building after your meeting with Tom, you pass through the lobby, checking your messages on your phone, when you hear a pleasant voice calling your name. It’s that blonde you met the night before on the elevator. Harrison. Harrison Osterfield.

“Hi Harrison,” you say amicably, tucking your coat under your arm. “How are you? Whatcha doin’ here?”

He smiled, running his hand through his hair. “I’m good! Was just waiting for a friend. He’s running a little late,” he replied.

You smile sympathetically. With the lobby doors opening and closing from your apartment building’s tenants coming and going, you shiver from a rush of cold wind every time the doors open. “Sorry to hear that, Harrison. Do you wanna come up or something? It’s freezing down here.” You couldn’t help but feel bad leaving him down here.

He shakes his head. “I really shouldn’t…”

“Nonsense,” you interrupt. “Come on, you could probably use a hot drink or something. I’d hate to leave you down here.”

Your soft voice is difficult to resist, and his surrendering smile tells you that you’ve won him over. He stands and follows you to the elevator, hitting the button for your floor for you, remembering where you got off.

“You remembered, thank you,” you smile.

He nods in response. “No big deal.”

You get to your door, unlocking it with your key. “Feel free to get comfy,” you say, gesturing to your living room couch. “I can take your coat.”

Harrison hands you his coat and you stack both of yours over the back of one of your kitchen chairs.

“Coffee or tea?” you ask, pausing over your kettle.

“Tea,” Harrison replied, glancing over his shoulder, looking at your tea selection. “Earl grey is just fine.”

You’re taken aback by his choice. It was the same as Tom’s. With Harrison’s British accent and similar choice in tea, you feel a little suspicious, but decide against acting on it. After all, you live in a large city. Plenty of other Brits have probably come through your part of the city and most of them probably liked the same tea as Harrison and Tom.

With the kettle on the stove, you settle on the opposite end of your couch. “Anything you wanna watch?” you ask, picking your TV remote off your coffee table.

“Yeah! I recommend Criminal Minds,” he said enthusiastically. “Ever heard of it?”

You nod. “I actually love that show,” you say with equal enthusiasm.

“Any episode in particular you feel like watching?”

“Nah, all of them are really good!”

He smiles. “Great. So how long have you been living in this building?” He asks. “I’ve been around, visiting my mate upstairs for sometime. I haven’t ever run into you until now.”

You curl your legs up onto your seat comfortably. “Yeah, I’ve been here for about a year or two actually, but I move around a lot for work sometimes. At times, I’ll only be here for a week out of two months. But when I’m here, I mostly just keep to myself”

Harrison seems intrigued. “Oh work? What do you do?”

“Nothing major,” you shrug. “I just do personal assistant stuff for actors and producers and stuff on movie sets. Kind of like, I do this work to get a little exposure for what I really wanna do, you know?”

His bright blue eyes fixate on yours. “What is it that you wanna do?”

“I wanna write scripts, screenplays and stuff. The personal assistant stuff may be a stretch, but at least I can see how everything works,” you reply, twisting your hair into a sloppy knot.

He smiles. “I get you.”

“How bout you?”

“Uh, it’s kinda complicated. One of my best mates is kinda this big famous guy, so I kinda travel around with him sometimes, some modeling here and there. I’m just now starting to do my own thing.”

You nod, unsurprised. He’s very good looking. Almost as good looking as Tom. “Your mate got a name?”

Harrison shakes his head. “I think I should keep it on the low. You know, keep his flat location quiet from fans.”

“Understandable.”

Fifteen minutes through the episode, his phone vibrates, once, twice, a third time. Picking up his phone, he scrolls through the notifications, eventually thumbing a response.

You bring your attention back to him. “Everything good?”

He nods. “Yeah, my mate just got back from this meeting. He was just wondering about my whereabouts,” he replies as his phone vibrates a fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh time.

Your eyes widen. “Sounds kinda urgent. You sure everything’s okay?”

A wince crosses Harrison’s face. “He’s freaking out about some girl he met. He’s been going through some stuff is all, you know what I mean? He’s changed a lot since becoming all big and famous. And I hate to cut this short, because getting to know you over Criminal Minds is an ideal way of spending my night, but I gotta go make sure he’s all good.” He pulls himself to his feet, padding across the floor to your kitchen. “Mug in the sink, alright?”

You nod, slightly disappointed by his sudden departure. “You must be a really good friend,” you comment as he pulled your apartment door open.

The corners of Harrison’s lips tug up into a slight smile, “Just for him. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Of course, I live here,” you retort, playfully rolling your eyes.

[theragingthespian]

and the birds will sing our song in halcyon

prompt from @randomthingsthatilike123 that i did not really fulfill and it’s super late

title from halcyon- the paper kites

She doesn’t get a text.

Nothing from that morning or for lunch or those little calls throughout the day, Lena’s voice always just shy of stressed until it smooths over, a laugh that warms her all the way through her fingertips.

Only a nagging worry that seeps and seeps, gathering into a fear that is only calmed by the footsteps slowly making their way up her stairs, the calm, measured breaths as Lena passes each floor.

A fear that is only calmed by Lena’s knock at her door and the small, small- oh, why is it so small?- smile that Kara’s answered with when she jerks the door open, ignoring the groan of the wood under her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Lena ducks her head. “Can I come in?”

There are so many answers she could give. Ones that maybe would make Lena laugh or smile or do that little shake of her head.

Answers of yes and of course and anytime.

(Instead, she pulls Lena in as her heart beats a steady rhythm of always, always, always.)

“Is everything-” Kara clears her throat, eyeing the way Lena drops everything and leans back against the door. Lena’s heart is fast, getting faster as her fingers dig hard into her arms. Nothing is okay or alright, and Kara bites her lip, because it seems foolish to ask it now. “What’s wrong?”

Lena raises a shoulder, waving her hand in a short motion that barely draws Kara’s attention away from her shaky sigh. “It’s fine.”

Which isn’t fine. On a scale from not fine to awesome, Lena’s fine is always rooted firmly in the area of bad and not good and most definitely, certainly not, by no means is it fine.

At least that’s what she thinks. She says, “Okay.” Draws it out because she can’t think of anything else but letting the conversation halt is worse than getting Lena’s nonchalant answers.

(There is a part of her that can’t stand this.

Not knowing.

Maybe it has a little something to do with her mother and Astra and her father and Alex and Jeremiah and Hank and Winn and James and-

There are too many things that can go wrong when she doesn’t know what’s going on and too many things when she could have done something.

It burns and rages and beneath it all, she can’t help the sharp pang of hurt that wells up, flooding into her chest.)

(But then, Lena is here.

Jaw working back and forth and fingers twining nervously together, and oh, she’s trying.)

“Okay,” she repeats. Kara takes a step forward, offering out her hand, palm facing upwards, to Lena. “Do you want,” her breath sputters out when Lena’s hand folds against hers instantly, and she forces herself to stay on track, “do you- we can talk about it even if it's fine.”

Lena arches an eyebrow slowly at her, hand squeezing hers, and maybe she put the teasing on a little thick, but Lena’s pushing away from the door, smiling not wider but more genuine than before.

(It's happening more and more.

Lena coming to her, worries weighting her steps but trying to go forward all the same.

It soothes the ache in her chest that is always carved just a bit deeper when she is constantly in the process of realizing how much Lena carries.

Whenever she voices it though, Lena huffs, a playful sound accompanied by an adoring look that makes her shiver happily and have you seen all what you do?)

“I have movies.” Lena quirks up her lips into a fond look. “Which you totally know by now. Duh. Um.” She looks over her shoulder, past the trinkets she gathers from around the city and through talking with its people, past the paints and books and food. Falters.

“Could we just,” Lena bites her lip, and it's serious and there's a problem, but affection rushes into her chest at the action, “sit down?”

“Sure, we- Sure.”

Kara flops down into the couch, dropping her feet back to the floor when it goes to tip back. Lena rolls her eyes and trust Lena to be the only one who can make exasperation look impossibly tender. “Settle down Supergirl.”

“Yeah yeah.” She smiles, feels her lips curling upward even more when Lena smiles back. Kara grabs a pillow and pats at it. “Why don't you settle down, huh?”

Lena immediately sits down, shifting until her head is pillowed in her lap. Kara places a hand at her back, fingers twisting into her shirt. “Thank you,” Lena breathes as Kara trails her fingers up and down her back, and Kara scoffs at the gratitude.

(Lena is forever surprised at any acts of kindness or ones that are derived from someone purely caring about Lena. Not a Luthor but her.

Lena is shocked, but really, Kara can't imagine a better way to spend her time.)

“Lena.” She makes sure everything is soft, her voice, her hands, her. “Please talk to me.”

Lena turns her head away, sighing and although it's muffled, the sadness of it strikes right at her heart. “Anytime I try to help, I make things worse.” Lena holds up her hand, fingers raising individually with each point. “The hospital, the portal, the ceremonies.”

Kara tries to tamp down her surprise. A surprise that so easily twists into annoyance at whoever caused this. What reporter or employee or investor or stupid, stupid stranger said something to Lena to even make her think this?

(Alex had only shaken her head the last time she offered to throw someone into space for Lena and how many times have I told you, you can't do that.)

Lena presses further, fingers pressing harshly into her leg as words come spilling forth. “I just wonder what's to keep me from being like them? From really being a Luthor?” Her voice breaks. “I don't want- I can't-”

(She thinks of Lena asking herself this question daily.

Of Winn, fingers tearing through his hair as he asks then what's to stop me from becoming him?

Of Alex and the pained, pained look on her face anytime Jeremiah is mentioned.

Of constantly plagued by worries of red kryptonite and mind control and is today the day?)

“Did you hear in the news about Astra?”

Lena is thrown into silence before answering, voice cautious and light and it screams of knowing. “You mean with the General?”

Her stomach twists at that. Astra was a great general. Fearless and cunning all wrapped up in someone who loved her home and people and culture.

But it wasn't all she was.

She remembers nights in her lap, holoscreens in front of them as she spun tale after tale. There were times when they'd eat together and Astra would playfully snatch up Kara’s favorites. Nights spent looking up as Astra taught her the stars as often as those spent reading from the books Astra brought her.

Astra was a general, but first, she was her aunt.

(How fast will it happen to her?

When there's no one left who knows Kara or Kara Danvers?

When someone asks did you know Supergirl?)

“Right.” Her throat, oh, it burns. “My aunt,” her fists clench, words coming out fierce despite her best efforts not to, “I remember her from before.” She winces. “From before,” she settles on. “She was good and- and kind. And then-"

Krypton dying, people dying at Astra’s hands, and her mother knowing.

“She did horrible things because she thought her way was the best way. The only way.”

Lena turns towards her, face pressing against her stomach. “I read what happened to an extent. I'm sorry.” Lena's quiet, then adds, “for your loss.” Lena makes a confused noise, “I'm not sure I understand though.”

“There were steps to it. It doesn't just happen Lena. Everything she did, she decided it's worth. It's not outside your agency.”

(There are sometimes when she wakes and-

Stars.

Stars- there's so many- bright and shining and spinning above her. Dizzying as her apartment falls away, looking past walls and wood and insulation as if it's paper thin.

Dizzying as the panic sets in, chest seizing because oh, she's there again, isn't she?

Surrounded by nothing but stars and the cold, cold expanse of darkness.

Her thoughts a nonstop repeat of her mother's face twisting up in- what was it? Regret, grief, bitterness?- and of Kal-El.

Her thoughts over and over and over and she wasn't only talking to Astra when she spoke venomously of staring out into space and losing herself, feeling a part of her being chiseled away with every day she lost track of inside the pod.)

(Sometimes, sometimes she wishes that Astra had nodded along, had said she was right and me too.)

“A decision is one thing. Consistently proving a track record is another. Some people are just bad, Kara.”

She clicks her tongue and pulls Lena closer, closer still when Lena sighs and it's tinged with relief and fondness. “I don't think so.” She lays a hesitant hand on Lena’s arm, fingers tip-tapping down until she tangles her fingers with Lena’s. “I think that- all of this,” she corrects, tipping her head back and focusing hard on the ceiling to keep from looking through, “It's a choice.”

(She has to.

There's no other option.

Because there has to be something separating her, separating them from their worst fears.

Choices keep her from being like Non or, oh, -it leaves a bitter taste because love and disappointment don't mix- Astra. Astra was strong and brave but at some point, crossed that line and chose her objective to be more important than other people's lives.

Choices allow them to learn from the past and change the future.)

She looks down as Lena’s features pull into a skeptical frown and all she can think is love, love, love. “I think that is what makes it so amazing. When people are,” Kara stops, searching for a word and finding nothing but, “good.”

“Why?”

Kara shrugs. Lena presses her thumb against her palm, swipes over her fingers. “You had the choice for something else. Sometimes the better route for everyone is harder. We choose to do good. That's what makes it so special.”

“That sounds subjective.” Lena blinks slowly, feet pressing flat against her legs as she inches closer. “Then what does that say of those who choose otherwise?”

“There's always tomorrow. Always more choices and time to leave this place better than when you found it.” Kara smiles as Lena pushes up to sit beside her, gently tightening her grip on Lena's hand.

Lena drops her head against her shoulder, and it's only with slight reluctance does she let go of her hand to reach up and slip her fingers through Lena’s hair. Lena gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, eyes falling shut. “Not everything can be fixed once it's happened.”

“No,” she agrees quietly, sucking in a breath. “No, you can't. But,” she skims her knuckles gently over Lena’s jaw, waiting until she glances up, “You can always try.” Kara hums. “And maybe there are just some bad people.” She twists up her face to show her disagreement but can't hold it long when Lena laughs quietly, “but you, Lena Luthor, are not one of them. You try and you do so much good. No matter what anyone else says.”

“That's very subjective then. Whose opinion should I take then?”

“Mine of course.” She grins, Lena raising a hand and cupping her cheek making her smile spread wider before she sombers. “The choices are yours to make, but that doesn't mean you have to go through it alone.” She thinks of Astra and her throat constricts. Never. Never will someone she cares about go it alone. “Because you're not. Alone, that is.”

“Okay.” Kara wiggles her fingers against Lena's sides until hands slap at hers. “Okay, okay stop.”

They're quiet for a time, hands clasped together and pressed tightly against each other. Lena's head drops heavily onto her shoulder, breathing already slowing and it's not the first time she's marveled at how fast Lena falls asleep after hearing Alex toss and turn for so many years.

There's a barely there, sleepy mumble. “Hey Kara?”

“Yeah?”

“You're not alone either.”

She drags her fingers lightly down Lena’s arm as she nods against her head. Surrounded by photos of her family and all the things they leave behind in her apartment, it makes it startling clear. Kara glances over her shoulder, looking through her nightstand to see the spy beacon shining faintly.

“I know.”

(With Lena’s words repeating in her mind, it sounds an awful lot like me too.)

[beanjuice-duh]

Sad prompt: Angus getting old and Taako realizing that human aging kinda sucks

(I have a bonus to this if it gets traction but sorry it took so long, I wasn’t in the mindspace for this moment) 

Taako took his hand.

“Sir, you seem worried.” Angus smiled, the corner of hislips wrinkled as his leathery skin lit up the moment their hands touched. Withfeeble, shaky strength Angus held his hand back. His hands trembled in Taako’sstill timelessly, silky palm. He stared up through the same iconically andcomically large round rimmed glasses at Taako. Stared at a face that throughthe decades hadn’t changed a bit and if he had, was masked by magic.

But there was a change in Taako. Not the kind that laid onhis face and coated his pores, not the kind that softened his hair or coloredhis lips. There was an age behind his eyes, a guard that had fallen many yearsago. A love in his pensively stoic face, “what do you mean, pumpkin?” Taakoresponded with a small smile.

Angus had worked for and with Taako for many years. He hadadmired him, idolized him and in the end befriended him deeply. Taako in returnhad raised Angus, then mentored him, partnered and even …learned from him.

A lesson Taako wished he did not learn from being in Angus’slife as much as he was, was the lesson of time. The science of a human life andhow…pathetically short it all was in comparison to well everything. How longhad Angus lived for? A little more than normal , a little more than a hundredhe was already but to Taako it felt like it was only yesterday.

It was only yesterday Angus was too scared to sleep with thelights off.

It was only yesterday Angus was clinging to Taako’scoattails begging for magic and adventure.

It was only yesterday Angus graduated from Wizard school andcame to work for Taako.

It was only yesterday Angus fell in love, had a family, kids…

It was only yesterday, Taako walked into that train cart andfound a particular little boy reading a very big book.

Taako remembered each one of these days and so many more inbetween vividly. He did this often as if Angus’s life was his favorite movie,replayed over and over again the times of endless laughter and joys. Now he wasnearing the end of what felt like an endless movie. He was pages away from theconclusion to the kindest tale. He was moments a way of letting his heart breakjust so slightly in an Angus short of way.

“You’re worried about me…aren’t cha?” Angus snickered a bitbefore coughing hard, his old, hunched frame shaking with each strained breath.

“Uh-uh kid there is nothing to worry about. Nada, zippo-ifyou forgot in your old, unsightly age I’m kinda bonin’ the reaper. Death iskinda the tabletopic of my life.” He smirked, “not to mention my sis and theinlaw have taken up the family biz of soul stealing.”

As he spoke, his grip tightened around Angus’s constantlyshaking hand. His fingers dug into the loose skin that barely clung to his brittlebones. He held Angus so tight he feared he was going to hurt him. He held Angusso tight his own hand was twitching. He held Angus so tight he hoped…

He wished…

God, did he start to pray it would keep him here just…just aday. Just one more day.

“Sir” Taako’s eyes didn’t met Angus’s. He …couldn’t look athim this way. He wished he did what he did for the others. Lessen the blowafter losing Magnus by making himself scarce and when goodbyes came he waswhere with Kravitz. He would have done that with Angus if Kravitz didn’t sithim down and tell him. Because he knew, Kravitz knew Taako needed to know whenit was time. It was so different with Angus.

He was just a boy last Taako remembered. He was his boy.

“Taako” Angus whispered, “its rude to fib to someone who’son their deathbed.”

The elf’s eyes shot up to Angus, who was…smiling. He seemedso calm and serene. He didn’t even look tired. “Ango—Ang…I…” Taako’s wordswere spilling over themselves as the tears began to breech.

“I might be old, but I was the world’s greatest boy detective.”Angus beamed a toothy grin that for a moment. For that second of joy Taako feltlike he was looking at Angus. Ten year old Angus, smile wide, teeth missing, ashe held out that tiny flame from many, many years ago. “You don’t need to worryTaako…everything is going to be alright.”

“I know, kid…you don’t have to tell me twice. I know…” Taakopaused for a second, “they say…um…its always harder for a parent to lose a kid…somethingabout going against nature or somethin’…” Angus started to laugh again, a bitslower and breathier than before. “Don’t quote me on that uh-uh my memory isfucking shot.” His laugh started to grow a bit more now in life and volume. Asif….

‘Taako, its time babe.’

Both Lup and Kravitz were spectral, floating invisiblybehind Taako as they watched and waited.

‘He’s ready…’ Kravitz added.

“…I’m not…” Taako whispered under his breath, under thevolume of Angus’s last laughs. “I…won’t be…” He turned his head away to look atthem but they were gone, he ran his hand over his face trying to mask it.

But nothing got past Angus. “I’m ready.” Angus sighedcatching his breath again. “I’ll see you soon sir…not too soon but…I’m sure itwill feel soon to me.”

“I might be dating death but death gotta work to get me…”Taako joked, avoiding death was a weird game he played since he slept with inthe same breath but now…Taako wasn’t sure how long he could avoid it all. Whenit seemed Death didn’t just own his heart, he was taking pieces of it with him.

“He’s got a tough job then…” Angus placed his other handover Taako’s and sniffled a bit. “Its been…an honor being your student…and…” hefelt his eyes droop, his vision started to fade a bit and suddenly there was anoverwhelming slumber looming over him as everything just seemed to blur andslow. He looked up at Taako letting his face be the last thing his mortal eyestook in. “G’bye sir…”

And just like that, without a care or a pause. Angus’s storyfinished. The page turned and there was the big period at the end. Just likethat his hand began to lose strength and little by little his senses began toleave him, hearing being the last.

Taako clasped Angus’s limp hand to his face and whispered ina voice to humbling it would have brought Lup to his side if she didn’t knowany better. “See ya kid…” He tried to smile but his lips broke into a sob. “Myboy…my beautiful, magic…boy detective.” 

He gently placed his hand back down tohis lifeless body, with a silver spoon now in his aged grasp.

[sun-summoning]

just some sarada and sakura stories 

i. future

sarada’s favourite version of dress up involves taking parts of her mother’s gear that she no longer uses, particular armour that’s too big for her and a cat mask of porcelain that has been long put to rest. sarada runs around the house draped in black and with the mask on her face, leaping from one piece of furniture to the other while explaining that the floor is lava. 

when sakura enters the room, walking over said lava, sarada turns to her dinosaur and rabbit teammates and tell them that lady blossom is here and that they mustn’t fall for the tricks hidden in her apron.

her mother raises an eyebrow at her. “am i supposed to be the bad guy?”

“yes, mama!”

“what should i do?”

“bad guy things, duh.”

her mother laughs and agrees and soon she has sarada struggling in her embrace.

“no, mama!” sarada yells. “too tight!”

her mother loosens her grip but still holds on to her. “i have you now,” she declares in her evil voice.

“you’ll never get away with this!”

“and time for my secret move,” her mother continues. sarada tenses. “kiss attack!” soon her mother is pressing sloppy kisses to her forehead and cheeks and sarada starts to giggle because she’s ticklish. she yells that she concedes and when her mother’s barrage subsides, sarada pouts at her. 

“when i’m bigger, i’m going to be way stronger,” she declares.

“i’m sure you will, sweetheart.”

“i’m going to smash the ground like you can, mama.” she bites her lip. “when i’m bigger, will you show me how to do that?”

her mother makes a fist and grins and sarada makes one too. “you bet i will.”

-

ii. modern au

when sarada comes home and finds her mother using her laptop, she panics and almost trips on her feet as she grabs the computer away. 

“sarada!” her mother yelps in surprise. she frowns, more concerned that annoyed. “what are you doing--”

“why are you using my laptop?!”

her mother blinks. “you mentioned that you wanted to take a trip together during your school holidays, so i was just doing some research,” she explains. 

she speaks so slowly, so calmly, that sarada remembers that maybe she needed to relax.

“you kids these days.” her mother just shakes her head. “so attached to your devices.”

sarada pouts. “i’m not--”

her mother just pulls her down to the couch, gently prying away the laptop and settling it over both of their laps. she goes through a few tabs, showing sarada some places she was thinking of bringing her. they discuss their family trip and how fun it would be to go to the beach together and bury papa in the sand, and when they’re done, her mother glances at sarada and asks:

“and what was with that reaction earlier, missy?” her mother closes the laptop and puts it on the table. she turns her body and sarada grimaces, realizing they’re about to have a serious discussion. great. “are you hiding something?”

“no!” but sarada answers too quickly. she curses herself, because what kind of ninja would be so poor at hiding information. her mother raises an eyebrow, and knowing that the world’s strongest kunoichi probably has ways of making her talk, sarada rubs the back of her neck and admits almost indiscernibly, “i, um, write, you know, like, stuff.”

“what was that?”

“i like to write.”

when sarada looks up, her mother is nodding and smiling. “can i read--”

“no!” 

her mother isn’t even remotely fazed by all her yelling. “alright then--”

“like, it’s fan fiction.” sarada doesn’t even want to consider how red her face must be right now. “just. stuff. modern aus. fantasy aus. whatever. stop asking questions, mama, jeez!”

-

iii. inheritance

“mama!” sarada yells from the attic. “ma!” she yells again when she gets no repsonse. “maaaaaaaa!”

“yeah?” sakura shouts from downstairs.

“mama, i found your old forehead protector!” sarada has the decency to stand at the edge of the attic entrance. 

“what was that?”

“your forehead protector!”

“what?”

“your forehead protector!”

“oh! okay?”

“can i use it?”

“can you what?”

“can i use it?”

“what--”

“what is wrong with the two of you?!” her father growls when he stomps down the hallway. 

he looks up the ladder at sarada, glaring at her, and then turns his furious gaze to the office where he knows her mother is. “stop yelling across the house!” he scolds. her mother comes into view, having come a little closer so they could try having a quieter conversation. her father continues chiding them, but her mother lets out a guilty giggle that sarada can’t help but share.

“we are very sorry anata,” her mother says. 

“yeah.” sarada tries not to grin too widely. “sorry papa.”

he just rolls his eyes when they start laughing again and walks away. 

her mother soon joins her in the attic. “what were you saying, sweetheart?”

sarada holds up the forehead protector she’d found in a box of her mother’s old things. based on the photos she’s seen, this is the one her mother used when she was in her teens. it’s a little scratched up, but to sarada that just adds to its wonder. her mother took down some of her biggest bads wearing this thing.

can i use this? she wants to ask, but sarada shakes her head. “i’m going to use this,” she declares. 

her mother rests a hand on her head. “yeah?”

“yeah,” sarada says. “is that okay?”

“of course it is.”

-

iv. picture frame

one day sarada finds a box of old photographs and wonders why they’ve never been framed. they’re clearly from her childhood, sometimes featuring her grandparents or naruto or ino, but mostly they’re of her and her mother. when she asks why they’re in a box, her mother looks sad.

“i didn’t want to remind you of the fact that it was just the two of us,” her mother admits.

sarada looks at the first few: her and her mother having a picnic, her and her mother at the beach, her and her mother with their garden. they’re all close-ups, selfies taken by her mother or with a tripod, reminding sarada that it really was just the two of them for quite some time.

“and i didn’t want to hurt your father like that either.”

sarada’s lips thin. her mother has always been painfully kind, and sarada hates hearing about the sacrifices she’s made for for her. 

“but,” her mother continues, “i couldn’t stop myself.” she shrugs. “really, these photos were just for me.” she moves to take the box back but sarada shakes her head and brings it to her chest.

“no,” sarada whines. “they’re mine now.” her mother raises an eyebrow and sarada just shrugs. “fine. they’re ours. can i take a few and frame them?”

her mother just smiles. “take whichever ones you want.”

-

v. “because we have you..."

sarada reads a lot, from ninjutsu scrolls to medical texts to trashy romance novels. she can’t help but enjoy the excessiveness of the latter books, and sometimes she wonders how her parents were able to be away from each other for so long.

“were you ever worried?” sarada asks her mother. it might be rude, but her curiosity is getting the better of her. and she knows their bond. sarada could never ask her father something like this without the mood dampening severely. with her mother, they can turn this into a joke.

“worried that he’d what, cheat on me?”

“yeah.”

her mother actually snorts. “oh, no, not at all.”

“really?” sarada glances at the novel she’d been reading. the husband had stayed faithful during his years away from his wife, but that didn’t stop the drama caused by another character implying infidelity. “how come?”

“how come i believed my husband would be faithful to me, his wife?” 

sarada rolls her eyes. “you don’t have to be a smartass.”

her mother laughs. “i’m not trying to be,” she teases. “many reasons. he would never do that to you, for one.”

“that wouldn’t have anything to do with me...”

“it would have everything to do with you,” her mother points out. “he would never do anything to hurt our family. you father loves you so much, sarada.”

“but it’s not about me.”

“well and he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me either.” her mother stops folding the laundry. she glances at sarada’s novel and rolls her eyes at its cheesy cover. “sasuke loves me,” she says. she sounds a little exasperated, as if she’d had to have this conversation too many times, but for her child, she’d power through it once more. “before i was his wife, i was his friend and i was his teammate, and he would never do something to damage our relationship like that.”

“oh.” sarada rubs her neck and wonders why she had to ask about this at all. “o--okay.”

“and besides,” her mother continues, “that’s just not who your father is. something like infidelity -- it’s entirely out of character for him.”

-

vi. through her eyes

one morning sarada looks at herself and wonders what she might be like had she had green eyes. 

it’s a simple thing, but sarada thinks it would make many changes to her life.

for one, she thinks people would have seen her mother in her with a little less struggle. sarada gets it. she’s every bit her father from his colouring to his attitude to his sharingan. but that’s it. nurture was the biggest part of her upbringing and sarada is just like her mother in so many ways undetectable ways.

she probably wouldn’t have been so doubtful during her adolescence, either. deep down, sarada knows her idea was, ultimately, really stupid. 

glasses? glasses? she thought she might have had a different mother because of glasses? she doesn’t even want to think about how needlessly convoluted the story would have been, how insulting it would have been to everyone involved, and how utterly absurd it all would be had her stupid, stupid glasses theory been true.

what was she even thinking?

she hurt her mother with those doubts, but her mother is so painfully, foolishly kind and barely spared the apology a moment of thought.

sarada looks at her reflection and thinks she looks like her father, but if she concentrates for a moment, she sees her mother there too.

she’s there in the way sarada smiles, the way she stays confident and leads and comforts others when need be. 

she’s there in the way sarada’s hands seek to help those in need. she shatters the ground like her mother, mends wounds like her mother. she doesn’t have the same medical precision, but her mother taught her enough first aid.

and she’s there in the way sarada looks out and is able the best in others. she’s there in sarada’s capacity for hope.

-

vii. freestyle

when sarada becomes hokage she gains access to a lot more information. she knows she can learn more about her clan’s heritage, but she also feels like that’s something she should address with her father personally. they’ve discussed a few things, but he seems to think he’s protecting her from something so sarada has learned to just leave him alone.

there is one piece of information that catches her off guard though. she goes straight to her parents’ house and with her father out tending to the garden, she sits across from her mother. she drops her hat onto the table and asks her mother:

“why didn’t you become hokage?”

her mother blinks. she’s retired but she’s still one of the finest kunoichi this world has ever seen and she maintains her soft smile. “what do you mean, darling?”

sarada rolls her eyes. “stop that.”

“stop what?”

“pretending.”

“i’m not--”

“i know it was unofficial, but there are still some records,” sarada points out. “tsunade-sama and kakashi asked you to be the next hokage. what...what happened?”

“what happened?” her mother echoes, still grinning. she rolls her eyes as if this is a silly question and then she shrugs. “lots of things really.”

“don’t give me that.”

“it’s true.”

“mama--”

“you happened, sarada.” it sounds like a jab, but her mother reaches across the table to hold her hand. she smiles the way she does when she wants sarada to understand something, but sarada can’t quite comprehend this.

sarada has wanted this role for so long that sometimes she doesn’t remember why she ever did. and to find out it was offered to her mother long ago? and her mother declined it? 

“the hokage must devote so much of their time and their life to the village,” her mother explains. she’s said this before to sarada. “i couldn’t do that. i didn’t want to have to be away from you. maybe i’m selfish, choosing you over this village, but i made the right choice and i know it.” she touches sarada’s cheek. “after all, look at what you’ve become.”

sarada wonders what her life would have been like had her mother taken up the mantle when it was offered to her.

would her father have left? would the world still be the same had he not gathered the intel he did in his absence? would she and her mother still have been close? probably not. the seventh loves boruto and boruto loves him too, but their bond is so tense and awkward and love or not, their relationship could never compare to what sarada has with her mother.

sarada considers all the past hokage, so many of them childless, and the ones that did have families ended up fairly estranged. would that have been her and her mother? if her mother had been the seventh, would she have been painting obscenities on the mountain? and god forbid, if her father still had to leave too, what then? would she have been raised by her grandparents? would she--

"i never wanted the role, anyway,” her mother clarifies. 

sarada can’t help but snort, because according to the seventh, even her father once made a comment about one day being hokage.

“i wanted to be stronger, i wanted to make the world a better place, and i wanted to make sure your father was happy,” her mother summarizes. “and then when you came along, all i wanted was to make sure you had the best life i could offer you.”

which, sarada understands, she never could have done as hokage. 

“oh,” sarada breathes. “o--okay.”

her goals were so simple it’s almost baffling, but her mother has always been a fairly simple woman. sarada nods and wonders why this revelation is so reeling. maybe it’s because given the importance of being hokage to sarada, the fact that her mother could decline it so easily implies just so much.

“you’re my baby,” her mother says.

“mom.”

“you are!” 

“ugh--”

“oh stop that.” her mother rolls her eyes. “you think because you’re hokage now, you aren’t my little girl?” she shakes her head. “you’ll always be my baby, sarada.”

“yeah, yeah...”

sarada stays a bit longer, asking about how they’re doing and how boring retirement is and if they’ve developed new old people hobbies. eventually the sun starts to set and her father comes back inside and says he’ll get dinner started. when they ask sarada to join, she declines gently. she slacked off the whole afternoon, after all, just chatting with her mother. 

“you did it, by the way,” sarada tells her as she stands. she grabs her hat off the table and her mother stands too, pulling sarada into her arms. 

“did what, sweetheart?”

sarada grins. “you gave me the best life you could offer. thank you, mama.”

-

fin

[anamelesstraveler]

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Bodhi Rook’s Guide to Love

A SniperPilot fanfic. Rated G.

Complete | 2,521 words

 Ten Mistakes that will Lead You to Winter Fun, Love, and Laughter (via Meddling Sisters and Nosy Coworkers)

By the end of the day, Bodhi will count ten mistakes leading up to kissing Detective Cassian Andor.

This story includes PINING (so much pining), modern AU, detective Cassian Andor, Mechanic Bodhi Rook, and the two of them being stuck on a ski lift.

By the end of the day, Bodhi will count ten mistakes leading up to kissing Detective Cassian Andor.

Mistake #1 had been agreeing to go with Jyn for a long weekend at this ski resort without question, which Bodhi can tell you is never a wise idea. His sister is far too clever for her own good, and innocent offers for a vacation are never actually innocent. Mistake #2 had been rising to her challenge when she’d, oh-so-casually, mentioned she’d invited her coworkers Cassian Andor and Kay Tuesso as well.

Bodhi isn’t sure where exactly mistake #3 had been made, perhaps somewhere between calling his sister on her underhanded, completely unsubtle schemes (only making it worse for himself) and not immediately protesting when his and Cassian’s separate rooms “mysteriously” turned into a double. Mistakes #4 through #7 have been each time Bodhi accepted Jyn shoving the two of them together for activities or at meals with only a mild reluctance.

(There had been the sledding the first day. And the ice sculpture exhibition in the village below the resort that evening. And Bodhi “suddenly” being the only one who was willing to accompany Cassian down to the lodge’s rec room. And, most painful of all, discovering that Cassian had also been told about the hot tub on the glassed in balcony at the back of the lodge - that one Bodhi almost hadn’t survived.)

So when the ski lift shudders to a creaking stop in the middle of its ascent on day three, Bodhi only closes his eyes, and mentally counts this as mistake #8, and turns to Cassian with a gentle wince. “That… doesn’t sound good,” he chuckles nervously.

He watches the way Cassian’s jaw clenches, that and the slight pinched look around his eyes the only indication of unease. He leans forward a few scant inches, peering over the safety rail. Several meters below them it’s only snow and other resort goers on the slope. “Maybe they just had a delay with someone getting on,” Cassian suggests.

Bodhi nods. “Could be.” They sit back in silence for several seconds, and then minutes. The lift doesn’t start back up again. The seat ahead of them on the line shifts, the passengers peering around each side of the bench. The passengers on the downward line opposite of them are starting to do the same - not that any of them can see anything from their position in the middle of the lift.

“I’m sure it will start up soon,” Bodhi reassures. Who he’s reassuring, he’s not sure. It might be both of them.

The ski lift doesn’t start up soon. Bodhi watches at least fifteen minutes tick by on his watch, his heart sinking with every passing one. It’s not the cold that’s the problem, even if Bodhi shrinks back against the seat to get out of the wind - they’re bundled up pretty well. It’s not even the height.

It’s his horrible, inescapable crush on Cassian Andor that’s the problem.

It’s truly the most unfortunate thing in Bodhi’s life at the moment, and he’s helpless to stop it. In fact, it only seems to be getting worse the longer he knows the man. But what’s Bodhi supposed to do, when even the smallest of Cassian’s smiles lights up his whole face like that - makes his eyes sparkle just so? What’s he supposed to do when that lock of hair slips from behind his ear when he’s concentrating on something? Or today, when that little girl had slipped on her skis and Cassian had rushed over to help her up, all kind eyes and gentle hands?

When they’d first been introduced, Bodhi had thought of Cassian as solemn and stern. And while Bodhi can still see that solemness about him, he’s also discovered the relaxed warmth of the other man and…

Look, Bodhi doesn’t stand a chance, alright? He’s hopelessly, disgustingly in love with Cassian Andor, who is light years out of his league and only barely knows Bodhi exists, and only then because he’s Jyn’s partner.

Bodhi lets out a quiet sigh, his breath billowing out in the chilly air, and slumps back against the seat. He lets his hand slide off the railing and down beside him, and jolts when his gloved fingers come into contact with Cassian’s hand, rather than the wood and plastic of their lift. The seat rocks with the force of his flinch. “Oh, I’m sorry--” he stops, the flash of fear in Cassian’s eyes and the way his other hand clutches at the rails bringing him up short. Instinctively, his hand finds Cassian’s again. He can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when he’s never seen a look like that on Cassian’s face before. “You okay?”

Cassian’s eyes linger on Bodhi’s gloved hand on top of his, but he doesn’t comment on it. Which is… good, right? It’s a sign that Cassian at least appreciates the gesture; that the thought of sharing a completely innocent touch with Bodhi doesn’t disgust him.

(Bodhi tells himself not to think about the feel of Cassian’s hand under the thick glove. The tiniest trace of warmth he imagines he can feel. Don’t think about it, Bodhi. Don’t be that pathetic.)

“I’m… okay,” Cassian says finally. But there’s a tremor of uncertainty under it. “I’m just not good with heights.”

Bodhi’s heart clenches in his chest. “You’re afraid of heights? Cassian, you didn’t have to come up with me…”

“No, I’m not--” Cassian releases his tight grip on the safety bar, and reaches up to tuck a stray lock of his long hair back up into his hat. It’s a nervous gesture this time. “I wanted to come up. I’m usually okay. I was okay just sitting here during the ride up. But then… the lift stopping and the swaying…” He looks a little ill just saying it, and Bodhi gently squeezes his hand. “After I fell, you know…”

Bodhi does know. The first time he met Cassian Andor was because he went to visit Jyn at the hospital, and gave in to her demands to wheel her down the hall to see Cassian. Jyn had walked out of the warehouse that day with a dislocated shoulder, a busted knee, and Krennic in handcuffs. Cassian had taken a nasty fall off one of the catwalks and survived with three fractured vertebrae, a fractured hip, and a broken leg. The fact that Cassian had recovered from his injuries even half as well as he did is, frankly, a miracle.

“I get it,” Bodhi says. He twists in his seat, taking care not to rock the car too much. Cassian’s eyes still keep drifting to the space between the safety bar and the seat. “Hey. Look at me?”

After a moment, Cassian obeys.

This�� this is definitely mistake #9. Because Bodhi isn’t used to being the sole focus of Cassian’s gaze. He’s accustomed to seeing the intensity of the man’s warm, dark eyes - looking on something that isn’t him. A case file. A piece of tech. A steely, disapproving glare at Kay. But… not like this. His breath lodges in his throat, and he feels overheated despite the winter chill.

‘Don’t,’ Bodhi tells himself. ‘Don’t. Don’t think about kissing him. This is not the time.’ If he wants to accomplish that, he should probably stop looking at Cassian’s mouth.

Bodhi clears his throat, wetting his chapped lips. “We could talk about something? That’s not, you know, being stuck up here.”

Cassian’s head tips endearingly. “That… that would help. About what, then? About my cases?”

Bodhi rolls his eyes. “No. No work talk. Work talk is officially banned by our agreement remember? Let’s… let’s talk about something else. Like what we like doing outside of work.”

“That means you can’t talk about anything car or plane related,” Cassian counters, arching a brow at him.

“I like things other than my cars and my plane, thanks.”

“Oh yeah?” The challenge can’t even be called subtle anymore.

“Yeah,” Bodhi laughs, squaring himself up. “I… I like a lot of things.” You. “Um. I do metalwork. I take spare parts--”

“No cars.”

“They’re car parts sometimes, yeah, smart ass. Let me finish.” Bodhi can’t bring himself to even be annoyed when Cassian laughs gently, that smile lighting up his face again. He still looks a little nervous, pointedly keeping his face turned away from the great void of air in front of them. He’s turned in his seat now too, the two of them leaning closer to center to be heard over the occasional breeze and the sound of the skiers below. “I turn them into windchimes and mobiles and fountains. Statues and stuff.”

“You do?” Cassian asks, softer now. “Do you sell them?”

“Yeah, some of them.”

“D’you have pictures?”

“Y-Yeah, on my phone. I can… show you when we get back to the lodge tonight?”

“I’d like that,” Cassian says, in that same tone. Bodhi’s face heats.

“So… and you, then? What secret hobby does Detective Cassian Andor have?”

Cassian’s nose wrinkles. “Don’t say it like that. I’m not anything special.”

“I think you are,” Bodhi insists, and immediately wants to kick himself. Especially when Cassian’s eyes go wide - like the compliment is something unthinkable. Bodhi doesn’t even know where to begin with that. “You are. Um. But anyway, what’s your… thing?”

“I… cook?”

Bodhi leans a little closer. “Really?”

The man nods. “I find it soothing. I have this book of recipes that was my mother’s. She was a brilliant cook. The recipes are all modified and marked up by her with these little notes. It, ah, lets me feel close to her.” At least now Cassian doesn’t seem to be focusing on the heights anymore. His smile is almost shy, maybe a little sad. Bodhi clenches his hands to keep them still, to keep from reaching out.

“That’s amazing, Cassian,” he says honestly.

“You think so?” Those lovely eyes glance back up at him through dark lashes. “I could make something for you, sometime.” And it turns out that Bodhi doesn’t have to restrain himself, because Cassian is the one who reaches out, hesitating for only a moment before laying a hand over Bodhi’s.

Bodhi stares at it, and then up at Cassian. Who is watching him expectantly. “Wait. What?”

Cassian averts his gaze, biting his lip almost nervously, before Bodhi can actually see him steeling himself. “I’d like to have dinner with you, Bodhi. If you’d like that?”

His mouth drops open, nothing coming out of it for a few seconds too long. And then he sputters. “Did-Did Jyn put you up to this?”

Cassian, who has been looking more guarded with every passing second, pauses. “Wait. What?”

“Jyn! She’s been-- she’s been doing this the whole time. Teasing me about my massive crush on her partner. Making sure we’re both on this trip. The thing with the rooms. Throwing us together everyday. Did she tell you to go for it? Because… because I don’t need a pity date, Cassian. I could just be your friend if--” A gloved hand covers his mouth.

“Bodhi…” Cassian says.

“Mmph?”

“...I thought Jyn was making fun of me for my ‘massive crush’ on her brother.” He draws his hand away, and Bodhi knows he must be gaping like a fish, because he smiles. “You’re not going to give me a pity date, right?”

“It wouldn’t be pity,” Bodhi whispers.

And this is mistake #10. Because this time, Cassian’s smile is nothing short of stunning and Bodhi is never going to be able to come back from this. This moment, here, stuck on this stupid ski lift in the middle of winter, is going to mark a turning point in Bodhi’s life. Before he fell in love with Cassian Andor, and after. They’re tucked close, sharing warmth high above a world that has all but fallen away. Cassian shivers as the wind brushes by them, or maybe it’s from something else - something to do with Bodhi’s gaze dipping to his lips. And… isn’t that just the most amazing thing?

The kiss takes Bodhi by surprise, but he’s not sure which of them actually closes the gap. Cassian’s beard scrapes against his own. His lips are chapped. Bodhi can feel the warm puff of his breath across his face. And it’s perfect. They break apart with a mingled sigh, but Bodhi can’t bear the thought of pulling away. Cassian, it seems, can’t either, because he brings a gloved hand up to Bodhi’s cheek. The slick material of his ski glove is… absolutely absurd, and Bodhi breathes out a laugh. “Did that just happen?” he asks.

Gloved fingers clumsily trace along his jawline. “It did,” Cassian remarks with a note of awe.

God. Bodhi lifts a hand to do the same, curling his fingers in the folds of Cassian’s scarf. “Can it happen again? Who knows how long we’ll be up here.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Just as long as you we don’t rock the car.”

Bodhi can’t help himself, and arches a brow suggestively. He opens his mouth, searching for a suitable innuendo for that, and is promptly tugged forward again.

“Don’t say a word,” Cassian laughs against his mouth.

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Bodhi says, and tips his head for a better angle. And in fact, after that, he doesn’t think about much else. Nothing other than the fact that if he were allowed, he’d keeping kissing Cassian and never stop. Even around all of their winter gear and the fact that he actually can’t feel the chill of Cassian’s skin through his gloves.

“Oi, lovebirds!”

“Damnit, Jyn,” they both hiss in tandem. They reluctantly pull away, peering back over the rail. (Cassian keeps his grip on Bodhi’s coat as he does. It’s such a little thing, but Bodhi give his wrist a reassuring squeeze anyway.) Below them on the slope, standing along the course partition, are Jyn and Kay. The pair waves up at them, and even from up here Bodhi can see the downright wicked smiles on their faces.

“You’re looking cozy!” Jyn shouts.

Bodhi lets out a miserable groan. “Why me?” Beside him, Cassian hums in equally miserable agreement. “You’re not funny!” Bodhi calls back at her. “What are you doing down there?”

“Waiting for you two! Though I’m not sure why. Might as well leave you two up there to finally work out that sexual tension.”

Kay steps up beside her. “We heard the lift will be fixed shortly.”

A horrible thought occurs to him. “JYN, you didn’t do this, right?”

“Me?!” comes Jyn’s indignant yelp. Too indignant. His eyes narrow. “I am a police consultant, in the presence of a decorated police detective.” She gestures to Kay, who nods resolutely.

“She did it,” Bodhi sighs.

Cassian bites back a smile. “She definitely did.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll yell at her later.”

“Don’t.” Cassian shifts closer, slipping an arm around Bodhi’s waist. “We’ll get even.”

“I like the way you think.”

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

END.

[maniibear]

One of my fics I managed to save from Imzy for the prompt Recover. Tony mourns JARVIS during and after the events of AoU. 

Word Count: ~1900 Warnings: None? Sadness, I guess. 

The sun is a sliver on the horizon when Steve jogs down the steps of the Bartons’ farmhouse. 

Laura had mentioned they might need more firewood and since she’s taking their, and now Fury’s, descent upon her home in complete stride, Steve didn’t need to be told twice. There’s a different kind of cacophony outdoors, one that fades to the background more quickly, but it’s kind of terrifying in its serenity. After all, what did the planet care about Ultron or his plans for stolen vibranium? 

Weak, dusty light playfully limns the Quinjet and the trees alike as Steve makes his way to the barn. It fades like a kiss by the time he reaches the wooden door, which is supposed to be locked, but stands open just enough to offer a glimpse of a figure sitting alone in the dark, illuminated only by the artificial and decidedly unplayful light of a smartphone.

Steve sighs in relief, shrugs tension from his shoulders when he recognizes Tony’s particular silhouette. The team's looking for you, and you’d rather be with your tech, he wants to ask, only what he hears stops him in his tracks. Somewhere above the million sounds of nature, Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up Tony’s breath and a specific, aching wetness in it. Damn.

Steve slips into the barn as noiselessly as possible. 

“Tony?” he ventures uncertainly, and the way the other man's body just curls in like a wounded animal confirms his suspicions. For a moment, Steve considers leaving and sparing Tony an audience and embarrassment, but that somehow feels like him showing his age.

Feeling stuff isn’t embarrassing, and it’s about damn time we start acting like it, Sam’s voice echoes in his head. Then, Tony’s shuddering breath becomes obvious even to someone without super hearing and Steve figures the darkness would provide plausible deniability if he wanted.

He sits on the wooden bench beside Tony and a quick glance at the Starkphone in the brunet’s hand makes things obvious. It’s footage of the city near the Wakandan coast, where the Hulk locked arms with the Hulkbuster armor. It’s obviously witness footage. It’s streaked with blood.

“Oh,” Steve sighs, because his own throat closes with grief. Probably for the best, because there’s a lot he wants to say, and none of it sounds right. He fidgets because inaction bothers him, but he’s not certain what to do. He desperately wishes Sam were here, but in the end, he settles for pressing his calf against Tony’s, a solid reminder of his company.

The next few seconds pass like this-- heavy silence punctuated by Tony’s quiet sniffling. Eventually, Steve reaches for the phone; the weak resistance he’s met with melts when he insists on tugging the thing out of Tony’s hands and switching it off. The pitch darkness that falls upon the barn then is almost a relief. Steve is tired, still raw from Wanda Maximoff’s number on his head, but he doubts he’ll sleep tonight, so this is what he has to be content with.

“We took a hit,” Steve echoes Tony’s words on the Quinjet. “But we’ll make it right. We’re Avengers,” he says and feels stupid before the words finish coming out of his mouth.

Tony just takes a measured breath and replies, “I miss JARVIS."

His voice is so small, so lost that Steve forgets to breathe. Any reassurances of ‘you can rebuild him’ die on his tongue because Tony says ‘JARVIS' like there just can’t be another. God, now he really wishes Sam were here. But Sam’s not, and all Steve has in the way of a field kit is the physical act of holding Tony to keep him from shaking apart.

Tony’s whole body goes rigid when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. What’s visible of him in the opaque blackness is torn, distrusting, but needful enough that Steve feels a mournful twinge. It’s going to be delicate handling, so he wisely avoids Tony’s neck and keeps his whole stance open and tentative. 

Remarkably, Tony doesn’t shrug him off.

“It’s—it’s my fault,” he says instead. “I let him down. He always had my back and I. Mmh."

Steve tightens his hold, just to do something, because fuck, he’s the wrong person for this. He’s barely caught up to modern day tech and he is so far from being able to wrap his head around somebody who lived and breathed it and—

Steve recalls the hologram Tony bought up back in the Tower, a small, expertly crafted sun disfigured in—what did Bruce say—not strategy but rage. His photographic memory recalls every shredded pixel, every aborted synapse and torn neuron and if he reconciled that with this grief —Jesus Christ! Tony had come upon the mangled body of his most loyal sentinel and nobody had even paused for a moment of silence.

Steve feels ill. “Oh god, Tony, I’m sorry."

“I should have been monitoring him.” Tony rasps. “I mean, it’s what he did for me, right? Kept an eye on me so I didn’t end up torn to bits. Because I’ll tell you, New York wasn’t easy. Mark VII wasn’t ready, we weren’t fucking ready, but J rockstarred it out there. And god, I remember when Dad—"

Judging by the abrupt wince that follows, Steve suspects Tony bit his own tongue to cut himself off. It tells him a lot, though, but it’s so much he can’t even begin to unpack; not with Peggy’s voice still echoing in his head.

“Breathe,” he instructs evenly, sliding his palm from Tony’s shoulders to his back, unconsciously mimicking the motions of his own childhood.

Silence falls again. Steve pays attention to the rise and fall of Tony’s breath and glances out to the farmhouse. He left his own phone inside, but someone’s probably going to come out looking for them soon.

“You lost a friend,” he acknowledges. “That’s…I get it. It feels like the world makes less sense."

“No, it makes sense. " Tony counters. "I have a mission, and a pretentious twit of a robot in the middle of it."

“Tony, stop,” Steve shakes his head. “I mean it, we need each other more than ever now. This is too big for us to not be a team."

“Ha!” Tony’s voice is muffled, like he’s scrubbing his hand across his face. "No, you don’t understand. This doesn’t end well for the team."

That sounds fairly ominous, and Steve should probably ask about it, but he’s so damn tired. Visions of the dance hall and of Peggy flash at the corner of his mind like pages torn out of a book. 

“We can take care of ourselves,” he says wearily. “You know that."

“What I know,” Tony begins and it sounds less like an acknowledgement than an argument, then he falters because Tony is tired too. “Fine. I know."

Steve’s glad it’s dark and nobody can see his smile at the grumpy retort. Another pause rolls between them, in which Steve can feel Tony’s ribs expand as wide as his own and hear their simultaneous outbreath—mournful, but somehow lighter in its sharing. Instinctively, he draws Tony’s head to lie on his shoulder. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there's no resistance, so Steve follows suit, rests his cheek atop a thatch of soft hair, and thinks he could weep at how terribly he needs this.

“But really,” he murmurs, not minding at all that Tony wiggles closer. “Together."

“But really,” Tony echoes. “You still have faith in all this…cotton candy?”

Someday later, Steve will put it into words—this whirl of what it really feels like to watch Tony care too much about code and people and everything else that peeked over the horizon to gaze raptly at tomorrow. But for now, he just bundles up the warmth pressed against his side.

“I do.”

-

Later, when the world is safe again and Tony’s plans to build the Avengers a home upstate come to astounding fruition, everyone gathers around a beautiful plaque mounted at the entrance to the data crux. Everyone in this case means the core team— Natasha, Tony, Rhodes, Thor. Bruce is still missing without contact; Clint is also not present, but he does manage to secure a line.

“Am I late?” he asks over the microphone. Clint's voice and image on the screen are scratchy. He’s certainly not connecting to the Avengers facility from his farmhouse, but damned if anyone can tell where he is either. "Am I…no? Oh good, didn’t wanna miss this. Who’s going first?”

Everyone automatically glances at Tony, and Steve helpfully tilts the Starkpad so Clint can too. Tony looks flustered, but Rhodes squeezes his arm and raises his eyebrows encouragingly.

“Ok,” Tony takes a breath and raises his glass of whiskey. “To JARVIS. Um. You did good, buddy; best of us all. And I’ll miss you…I—“ His voice quakes, and Rhodes’ comes right back to steady him.

“Hey, come on, we’ll miss him, too.” Colonel Rhodes raises his own glass. “To JARVIS, for saving my ass in Pakistan, Tokyo, oh, and that one arms dealer in Colombia. We captured him alive, but I’m pretty sure he died inside after J started roasting him.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Natasha confirms, and chooses her next statement with usual consideration. “We lost a teammate in this fight. I know that.”

There’s something immensely powerful in her handful of words, if Tony’s stunned quietude is any indication. Steve sneaks a quick glance at him before it’s his turn to talk. There is so much he still doesn’t know about Tony and JARVIS or the memories that bind them, but he doesn’t need a map of the brain to know love.

“It was an honor,” Steve says softly. “JARVIS jumped into this before all of us, kept the world safe from Ultron until we could figure out how to defeat him.”

“Aye,” Thor agrees. “Though he was a spirit of light and numbers, JARVIS fought hard and well from the digital realm. He shall have a seat of honor in Valhalla for eternity.”

“Yeah, man, to JARVIS and Valhalla,” Clint’s affirms over the speakers. “Bet that disembodied punk’s running the place by now.”

“Of course,” Tony retorts haughtily. “And you can bet he’s gonna figure out the real deal with that hammer, too."

Everyone's laughter echoes down the polished halls like a breath of fresh air, along with the chime of shot glasses meeting in front of the plaque before they all drink to Tony’s erstwhile copilot. There’s a palpable sense of closure to this one thing among a thousand other open questions and raw wounds; Steve feels it even after the team disperses and he’s left alone with Tony under another sunset.

Steve immediately picks up on a certain undercurrent of restlessness. He’s lingering; they’re both lingering, and it’s jarring against their shared instinct to do. Only Steve’s not sure he’s welcome to do anything about these newly risen slew of feelings for Tony. Now that they aren’t bowed under exhaustion or covered in darkness, surely, that certain ache, that ravenous need is back deep down where it belongs.

Or is it? Steve’s heart jumps to his throat when Tony sidles up into his space, and the familiar weight Tony’s slighter shoulder resting against his makes him want to weep all over again.

“That was good,” says Tony, falsely conversational. “Plaque was a nice touch."

“Oh, sure,” Steve replies unevenly, and falls right into the moment. “So, Jarvis. Was he someone you knew…?"