#I’ve just begun season four so DON’T TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS

[radarsteddybear]

Now that Tristan is off with the Veterinary Corps, I’m torn between wanting him to stay out of danger and completing his service unscathed and wanting him to get wounded so that we can see Siegfried absolutely fall apart about it

[pharaohbean]

summoning the summer storm

original upload: july 7th 2024 on ao3

summary: ",,I summoned the spring storm and then cried. My heart was wounded. "That's a sign of vanity, you know?" Whatever you say. I already get it, though.

My breaths will surely grow smoky and appear on the things blocking my view. They say that praying to be loved Is a sin. It has such a sweet scent.

Once we drink up the rippling cider, let's say goodbye. We'll say goodbye and if we fall in love again, let's smile together.'' - Shunran, john"

tags: Aoyagi Touya/Azusawa Kohane/Shinonome Akito/Shiraishi An (implied) | Alternative Universe - Fantasy, Written For A Class, Amnesia, POV First Person

warnings: none

author's note: "if you didnt read the tags, i wrote this for an ap lit assignment. could not tell you what it was but! hope you enjoy!"

The wind had already begun to pick up around the four of them when I thought twice about all of this.

Are we really sure this is the best way to go about this? Straight up summoning the summer storm?

There isn’t much of a better way, is there? I looked over to my companion, who had already unsheathed his sword and Inner fire. His olive-painted eyes reflected the fire beginning to crackle under his feet. This is the only clue we’ve got to go off of.

I couldn’t give a proper reply to that, so I simply pulled out my weapon and loaded a few bullets of Inner ice into them. Beside me, I saw Spring pull out her hammer and Inner thunder, and Summer with her staff and Inner wind.

Don’t worry, Winter. Spring and her amber eyes smiled at me; Summer grinned, her golden eyes twinkling. We’ll defeat it together.

I aimed by weapon right where the heart of the storm was gathering; the wind got sharper, threatening to cut into us. And then the storm reached its peak.

The summer storm, the only lead we had in figuring out what happened to us. Four unlikely companions— why was it so unlikely, though? Why do I just assume it would be unlikely? We’re similar to one another, aren’t we? —bound together by a shared goal and a shared mental connection.

The weapon in my hand, the proficiency and familiarity I held it with, and the simple word “winter” upon my lips was all I had. Before I met the others with similar stories of unknown places, unknown origins, and a single season in their memory.

As the storm reared its powerful head, the four of us glanced between each other, one thought resonating in all of our minds and one another’s:

Take down the storm and find the next clue.

The battle was long and arduous. Autumn sustained a number of injuries from diving-head first into the storm— Don’t worry about it, we need to take down the summer storm first —Spring seemed to be plagued by her own fears throughout— I-I’ll be alright! Don’t worry, I can keep going —Summer lost energy as time went on, sapped right out of her— Hah… I’ve got a little more left in me, don’t worry —and I myself could barely hear their voices over the roaring chanting of— I still worry for you, worry for you, worry —

Finally, the storm wavered and collapsed in on itself thanks to a well-timed combined shot of Inner magic—fire, ice, thunder, and wind—from all of us. A glass bottle with a small note inside clunked on the lush grass, rolling around innocently as if it hadn’t been the source of our pain.

Probably because it wasn’t, simply the drop from the boss. But that’s definitely the clue we need.

Autumn, obviously hiding the pain from his numerous cuts and scrapes, grabbed it off of the ground, scowling all the same.

It always feels anticlimactic to fight something and receive something so… pitiful.

Summer laughed, her enthusiastic voice dampened by her sapped energy.

But it’s what we need. The only clue we’ve got.

A single word upon my lips—”winter”—and a similar word upon my teammates’. A unique proficiency in some way, and our powerful Innate magic.

These are all the things we have in common.

But is it? None of us know.

Well, there’s one other thing we all have in common.

No matter what, we’d be by each other’s sides until the very end.

I shuddered, furrowing my brows. Spring, Summer, and Autumn were all watching me. Their eyes, similar colors but not exactly like one another, were unlike my own piercing silver eyes.

That’s not something to think about right now.

No one disagreed. We all shoved the thought of the future from our minds and continued on as is, ignoring the looming end of our journey together. All because of one shared fear, one that rang out unsaid between us:

I’m afraid to see what the future—and past—holds.

[unwrittenlibrary]

i don’t wanna do this (i don’t wanna lose this)

eighteen plus blog minors dni

summary -> it’s all fake, every piece of it scripted and perfected for the camera, even the upcoming break-up you pretend doesn’t break your heart.

words -> 2.5k

warnings -> fake relationship, use of name (bucky calls the reader by her character’s name, lucia, once) nickname uses (baby, sweetheart) co-workers/friends to lovers, no smut, not beta’d

notes -> this is for the lovely maera’s ( @ambrosiase ) hotel indigo writing challenge i absolutely love this idea mae and am so appreciative that you created this challenge, it really pushed me out of my comfort zone and i got to explore an entirely new au.  

room & service -> business meets pleasure with celebrity bucky barnes -> bucky and reader are co-stars in a fake relationship in a hotel for their final comic-con together.

— ➶ —

Bucky has been doing interviews with Sam all day today. 

You’ve been working together for six seasons and have both been to too many comic-cons to count. Every single one of them you and Bucky had been paired up to do interviews and photo-ops together. 

A scripted piece of a scripted relationship. Agreed upon when your characters romance began to pick up popularity and designed to look perfect until the end.

Tomorrow an article with be released ‘leaking’ the details of your perfect break-up too. A source close to the both of you will comment that wrapping of the show and being forced to go long distance just wasn’t working for you two. The writer will supply photos of today, the two of you avoiding sitting near one another and not speaking. They’ll write that their source confirmed this convention is actually the first time you’ve seen each other in months. 

Even more articles have already been planted periodically questioning whether the two of you were still together, generating buzz around the show and what happens between your characters. It’s a brilliant job, honestly.

Except, you and Bucky had been in a fake relationship for so long, it had begun to feel real. This distance between you two felt purposeful in a way that hurt you more than it ever should have. 

Your assistant is supposed to go through your instagram soon and begin archiving posts and pieces of your fake life with Bucky. He’s been glaringly absent from your social media recently and it makes your heart ache at the idea of him being nonexistent.

Your fans have noticed too. You read comment after comment all asking the same thing; What happened to you and Bucky? 

“Oh, Lucia! My dear, Lucia.” You bite down a grin at the sound of Bucky’s voice through your door. His words were filtered by the wall between you and a little slurred from the drinks he had no doubt consumed at the hotel bar. “Open the door, please.” 

You lock your phone and lay it on the bed beside you. “I’m busy, Bucky! Go bother Sam.” You call back despite already walking towards the door. 

“Bother Sam? On our last night together?” You can see Bucky smile teasingly though the peephole. Despite his joking tone the words hurt. “Four years together and this is how things end? Through a hotel room door?” 

His fist comes up to bang against the door and a hand comes up to his heart. He’s putting on a show for you, fully away of your eye watching carefully through the peephole. “How much have you had to drink, Bucky Barnes?” You ask as the door remains closed. 

Bucky holds his fingers up in a pinch too small to be true. “Not much.” When his hand falls back to his side he smiles up at the peephole. “Let me in, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.” 

You melt, becoming putty in his hand as you quickly move to unlatch the door. “I’ve missed you too.” You admit to him, face to face, as you lean against the door jam. 

A smirk replaces Bucky’s sweet smile as his hands reach out to grip your hips. “This break-up is tough on me, baby.” He pushes you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “One more night. One last time. You and me.” 

“Shut up!” You force his hands off of you and turn towards the mini bar in your room. “You’re such a dweeb. I’m glad we’re breaking up.” You pull out the miniature bottle of wine and twist the top off. 

Bucky’s hand slams across his chest as he falls against the wall in dramatic fashion. “You’re… Glad? My frail heart can’t take it,” he falls to his knees, “Please. Tell my mother, I loved her.”

You watch, unamused, as Bucky falls to the floor in front of you. “You’re obnoxious.” A beaming smile breaks out onto Bucky’s face that makes you grin.

“I was serious, about missing you.” Bucky moves to sit up with his back against the edge of your bed. You move to sit beside him on the floor. “These junkets and photos just aren’t the same without you by my side, cracking jokes in my ear.”

You rest your head against his shoulder. “Me too. I love Wanda, but it’s just not the same.” You admit quietly.

There’s so much that you want to say to him. What if this wasn’t fake? What if we didn’t go through with the break-up plan? “Did they send you our social media plan?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You swallow thickly, “I have my assistant going through my account for me soon. We’re supposed to start untagging and deleting photos of each other this week.”

Bucky snorts. “How fucking sweet. Four years together and they have us untag each other to confirm a break up.” His fingers tap against his thigh as the two of you sit on the carpeted floor together.

“Has it really been four years?” You ask quietly. It’s more of a question to yourself, but Bucky answers it with a nod anyways.

“My longest relationship ever and it was fake.” Bucky’s awkward laugh makes the air tense as he stares down at his hands. “I’ve wasted so much of my life. So many chances gone.”

You know the words aren’t said with ill intent, but that doesn’t stop the crack from forming in your heart. You can’t fathom the idea of all your time together, fake or not, being a waste.

Your eyes cut away from him in embarrassment. “Was it really all a waste?” You ask quietly. The words are unintentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re out in the air.

“What?” You can feel his eyes settle on you in an attempt to read your face or body language, but a career in acting comes in handy. Your back is ramrod straight and your face turned away perfectly to hide the emotions in your eyes. “It was fake when we could have had something real with people we actually cared about.”

It’s a knife to your broken heart. “People we actually care about?”

“You know, like, other girls and guys who we wanted to pursue but couldn’t because of the contract.” Bucky reaches out to wrap a hand around yours, but you pull away. “I don’t understand what’s wrong here.”

You shake your head, the regret of your words settling over you. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s been a long day.” You use the edge of the bed to help you stand while Bucky remains on the floor, watching you in confusion. “I’m tired, you should go.”

“Woah. What’s this one-eighty?” Bucky stands too and follows you as you move around to gather your toothbrush and skincare. “Two seconds ago we were joking about a fake break-up and now you’re all quiet and weird? You expect me to just leave?”

“Please.” You plead. The last thing you want to do is dump all your feelings out to Bucky, on the last day you two were officially contracted to each other, and make him feel guilty for feeling free. “I just need to be alone, Buck.”

You move to push past him towards your bathroom, but Bucky’s hand wraps around your wrist. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t do this closing yourself off thing.”

“I’m not.” You say stubbornly. “I’m tired.” You try again to move past him, but his grip only tightens as he forces you to actually face him. “Buck-“

“You can tell me, you know?” He says quietly as his grip slackens. Your eyes meet his, pools of blue staring back at you with something akin to hurt. “You can trust me. We’re best friends, right? You’re my-“

“You don’t have to lie to me, Bucky. Pretend to care. You can go back to the bar and…” You pull your hand from him and cross your arms over your chest. “And tomorrow we can start being with people we actually care about.”

Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut as his own words are repeated back and left out in the open between you two. “That’s not what I…”

“What did you mean then?” You cut him off. You want to sound angry, but your tone is sad and tired. “Enlighten me, please.”

“I just meant… I meant we could date who we wanted to date, I didn’t mean for it to sound so awful.” He answers quietly. “I care about you a lot. We’ve been friends for over half a decade, of course I care about you.”

You swallow thickly. “What if I don’t want to date anyone else?” You force yourself to ask. If not now, then when? Ten years from now at a reunion of your show? You couldn’t live with this what if.

“What?” Bucky’s hand falls from your wrist as he takes a step back like your words have burned him.

You push through the thundering of your heart and ringing in your ears to ask, “haven’t you ever thought about it? I mean, four years of just us, all those dates and premieres, was it really all just work for you?”

“I don’t know… I mean…” Bucky rubs a hand over his jaw as you stare at him expectantly. “Have you?”

“I asked the question I think that would imply…” You trail off as his answer weighs down on your mind. It feels like a no. No. No. No. It’s on repeat in your mind as you move to sit down on your bed. “After a while the dates and photos and sappy posts didn’t feel all that forced anymore.” You admit quietly.

Bucky paces silently in front of you. You’re unsure of what’s going through his mind as he does it and it’s all you can do to not tap anxiously as you watch.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He finally asks when he finally pauses in front of you. You look up at him unsure of what to say. “I mean… When did you start…” He trails off like he doesn’t want the answer.

You look down at your hands in your lap. Despite your worries in telling Bucky you guess you had never truly thought of this conversation ending up this way. All these questions felt like Bucky preparing for a gentle rejection.

“I don’t know. After our second anniversary?” You keep your answer to him vague despite you being fully aware of when you started seeing Bucky differently. “That post you wrote for me that day. All the ones after. All of those words were fake?”

Your mind drifts to his words that day. The sweet and short caption had made butterflies erupt as you scrolled through the photos he had posted with it. Despite you both being required to post something, the photos he had chosen had been entirely genuine.

Pictures the two of you had taken together on set, selfies during your fake dates, and even a sweet set of photo booth pictures from your first premiere together.

You had stared at the post far too long as emotions rushed through you. Your heart raced at the idea of Bucky taking his time to pick photos that meant something to the both of you.

“I think that..” You shake your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the painful reminders. “I think you should go.” You stand up suddenly, your hands pushing gently at his chest.

Bucky’s eyes widen as his hands come up grip your arms in an attempt to stop you. “Woah. Let’s talk about this. I’m just trying to figure everything out.”

“Figure it out? What is there to figure out, Bucky?” You cry out, shoving harder. “If you don’t know how you feel then you should figure it out on your own.” You move past him to open the door.

Bucky follows after you hastily. “Sweetheart, wait, please. I just need a moment.” You grip his forearms tightly using Bucky’s own momentum against him as you guide him to the hallway outside your room. “I wasn’t expecting this. We have articles and photos and interviews planned about a break-up tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, Bucky.” The two of you are back where your night began. Opposite sides of the door as you stare, unsure of what to say. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay? The article will be published and we’ll confirm it and life will move on.”

The door slams shut in his face without warning, not giving him a chance to say anything else. You stare blankly at the ugly, green shade its painted in silence as you remind yourself; It was all fake. A script you had been given and followed to a tee. One you had gotten too caught up in.

You’re feelings don’t change the ending.

There’s a slow knock on your door. You suck in a breath as you move to open it an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Bucky.” You’re cut off as his hands come up to rest on your cheeks and he pulls you towards him. Anything you had to say dissipates as his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss.

Your hands come up to grip his t-shirt tightly as you kiss him back your tongue slipping into his mouth while he pulls you flush against his body.

An arm wraps around your waist and Bucky pushes you back into your room, his foot kicking your door closed harshly.

The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed and you finally pull away to look at Bucky, but he speaks before you can say anything.

“Of course I’ve thought about it.” He breathes out. His eyes are wide with nerves and his cheeks flushed red. The sight of it mixed with his kiss makes your heart pound. “I’ve thought about kissing you for real, not in a room filled with crew and cameras. About what it would be like to be on a date where paparazzi hasn’t been tipped off. Baby,” his hands rest on your cheeks again as he forces your eyes to meet his, “I’ve thought about it all. What it would be like to be with you, to really be with you in every way. Sometimes it’s all I think about when we’re together.”

You take pause, your eyes widening and hands freezing in place as you listen to what he’s saying. “Why didn’t you say anything then? Why’d you just pace and ask me all those questions?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” He smiles brightly when you giggle. “Because I couldn’t believe you actually felt the same way. I was in shock.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You smile up at him softly. “What do we do about the article tomorrow?” You whisper your question.

You feel giddy with excitement as Bucky’s hands land on your hips to hold you in place, flush against him. “We deny it.”

“What about our managers?” Your smile doesn’t fade even as stress over the situation arises. “And…And our separate interviews tomorrow?”

“What are they gonna do? Fire us?” Bucky smiles. “We’ll tell them all about how in love we still are. That the source in the article was a dud and we’ve just been private recently as the show wraps.”

“We will?” You ask quietly. Your heart racing at his words. “You want to say all that?”

Bucky nods his head. “I do.”

You don’t say anything else he leans in for another kiss, you could worry tomorrow.

Bonus -> The Next Day

liked by buckybarnes, samwilson and 134,759 others

yourinstagram the final season of our show premieres this weekend and we’re so excited for you all to see how it ends. the first photo is from tonight and the second from our first season! the past six years has brought me so much joy and i’m so grateful for everything this show has given me. most importantly though, i’m thankful for you, bucky barnes. my adrian to my lucia. my best friend. my lover. thanks for making this show so fun.

View all 15,398 comments

samwilson we made a great show. love you guys.

buckyfan thought y’all were a pr stunt lmao

yourinstagram apparently you’re not supposed to really fall in love for those to work…

buckybarnes i am most grateful for you. you made work worth it every god damn day.

yourfan my favorite couple on and off the screen.

— ➶ —

notes -> this is my first ever time joining a writing challenge, it really pushed me to work through block and focus on this instead of letting is die out like i have with other projects despite liking them so much!

(hoping you guys don’t hate the extra instagram idea, i just felt it fit in!)

hopefully you enjoyed and if you did, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Ineffable Con 2020 Fun Facts

Fun facts from the Ineffable Con 2 (2020) guest panels :): 

Neil Gaiman, Douglas Mackinnon and Rob Wilkins

David G. Arnold (the music composer)

Claire Anderson (the costume designer)

Peter Anderson (Peter Anderson Studio created the opening title animation and in-show graphics)

Paul Adeyefa (Disposable Demon)

Jeremy Marshall-Roberts (the owner of Mary the Bentley)

1. Neil Gaiman, Douglas Mackinnon and Rob Wilkins

What do they have from Good Omens:

Rob has the statue from St. Beryls, all four motorbikes from the four horsemen, Crowley’s Devon watch, box signed by David Tennant with Crowley’s sunglasses and Aziraphale’s cocoa mug with Michael Sheen’s DNA :).

Douglas has the playing cards from Episode 1 and heavily annotated Good Omens book they used for filming with inscription by Neil: ‘For Douglas, make us love, make us cry, 3rd August 2017’.

Neil has Aziraphale’s chair from the bookshop that he bought from the BBC and he uses it for Zoom meetings.

What is their favourite thing that was not in the book and was added to the TV show:

Neil: all of the first half of Episode 3 - an absolute joy.

Rob: also the beginning of Episode 3.

Douglas: David Arnold’s music and Peter Anderson’s front titles.

Could Aziraphale get out of the Bastille easily if he wanted to?

Neil: if he could: absolutely. Did he have any conception of the mess he was in: probably not. It’s one of Neil’s favourite pieces of acting - the absolute delight on Aziraphale’s face when he realizes that Crowley’s there and then he turns around and rather petulantly, grumpily goes oh it’s you - that moment of joy on Aziraphale’s face when he realizes that he’s been rescued is one of Neil’s favourite things. 

Neil and yoghurt starter: I had this slightly mad thing where I would explain to everybody that fans were yoghurt starter. And I said, ‘Basically you start out with yoghurt starter and you put it into your warm milk and you leave it, and the yoghurt starter goes off and turns the entire thing into yoghurt. 

Neil realized that there was a cat in his house (Neil doesn’t have a cat :)). After the panel Neil said that he was going to look for the cat with a can of sardines and Douglas joked that he would find Michael Sheen in a cat costume.

What was the best and worst about making the series:

Douglas: the best - the camaraderie, getting to know the people, the cast and crew. 

Rob: the best - realizing that the book could be translated to the screen and watching it happen. The worst - coming to the end of the shoot and saying goodbye to everybody.

Neil: the best - the amount of love from everybody, the worst - fighting budget battles (producers wanted gone all of the cold opening and the death of Agnes Nutter).

Did they expect that Good Omens would attract so many LBGTQ+ people and how they feel about that:

Neil: Yes, absolutely. There are definitely people out there who seem to think that I accidentally wrote a love story with all of the beats of a love story including a break-up halfway through, without somehow noticing that I’d written a love story. And I may not be the brightest candle on the candelabra, but as an author who’s been doing it for a long time, I’m very well aware of when I’m writing a love story, thank you very much. And so from my perspective I knew that the love story would be one of the driving things that would get us from the beginning to the end. And I also made a bunch of decisions about our angels and our demons in terms of casting, in terms of gender that everybody backed me up on, which I loved. You know, the idea that the archangel Michael is played by Doon [Mackichan] is something that is... or Beelzebub is Anna Maxwell Martin, whatever, there’s... it’s not like we are going: these are women, there are men, we are going: these are demons, these are angels. They... this is not a thing. And also doing something like Pollution, where you go in and go: okay  well if we were doing this in... if 1989 was now, if there were they pronouns, we probably would have done that. We didn’t think of it at the time but that’s no reason why we can’t do it now. And we did and I remember having a... not exactly a battle, but a... my very tiny skirmish with one of our execs who was very nice and very bright and was like: ‘Why are you saying they?’, and I’m like... and I... explaining, and he’s like: ‘Well I’ve never heard of that before.’, and I’m like: ‘Oh, okay, but trust me, just trust me, it’s all fine, just trust me.’

Douglas: And you know I have to say, just following on what Neil’s saying, I’ve been directing for quite a while, and I tend to notice if characters are falling in love, I tend to notice a love story happening in front of me, and I think it’s there, and everything is meant, guys, everything is meant.

Neil added: I would just say, there are some things that you do while you’re writing a script intentionally. The fact that... I wanted to do this, well, it was a thing I did that I really enjoyed doing... where whenever people accuse them of being a couple: they don’t deny it, they don’t argue, there’s no flustering on their part. They absolutely… you know, everybody… what I’m trying to say is:  yes, other people in the story are perceiving them as a couple too. And here is Uriel perceiving them as a couple, here is wonderful Dan [Starkey, playing the passerby] …and you know, you do scenes like that because that’s... you are trying to make a point here and you’re trying to make a point on how people are perceived.

Season 2, yes or no [fiends, all three of them!]:

Douglas: What’s that?

Neil: Of what?

Rob: Is it muted for me as is for everyone else?

Neil confirmed that they are going to be Funko Pops. [yay!]

2. David G. Arnold (the music composer)

He didn’t read the book before he was approached to do the music. He was asked to do it by Douglas Mackinnon he knew from the Victorian episode of Sherlock and he said yes before even knowing what it was about because he wanted to work with Douglas again.  

The first piece of music he wrote for the show was the brass band doing the Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon [Episode 6, in the park before the kidnapping].

The second piece of music he wrote was the lullaby that Crowley sings to Warlock. He always liked the lullabies like in Mary Poppins so he said to Neil: Why don’t we do it like Walt Disney, but if Walt Disney was possessed by Satan? That was about 7 months before he needed to write anything again while they were shooting and it kept going round his head the whole time - the melody stuck with him and when it came to the Opening Title of the show, this became the middle bit.

The original opening title was Everyday by Buddy Holly and each episode was supposed to be closed with a different version of it: a death metal version, an angelic choir version, a carmina burana version... and he actually made all those. But he likes to find the musical identity of the show and put it in the opening titles because it’s important and it tells you: ‘This is the word you’re going to experience’, so he wrote his own opening title with the lullaby in the middle and played it to them [probably Neil and Douglas] with Buddy Holly as the backup and: Neil just turned around in his chair and said, ‘That’s Good Omens.’. From that point the instructions were with no rules, just to create whatever he wanted: the further you can go the better, the weirder and the stranger you can think the better. It’s a rare thing to be shown a world like Good Omens and be let free to run around in it. 

His favourite ending title is the Queen one in Episode 1.

One of the reasons he didn’t do a theme for Crowley and a theme for Aziraphale is that the theme of the show is theirs - it’s theirs and they share it and it’s both of theirs and there is no separating in that regard. 

About Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship reflected in the music score: It’s interesting isn’t it, because the relationship changed in a way slightly frequently and majorly infrequently. It seemed right from the start that their relationship was somehow seeded and planted and had begun by the time we saw them even though they may not have realised it themselves, you know, with the pair of them on the wall, considering one is a demon in the Garden of Eden and one is an angel. They act very charitably towards each other and they act with a lot of things you might not expect. And underneath that there is a sort of sense of togetherness and support even though they both know that their paths are going to diverge and they have different responsibilities. So I always felt like, right from that moment, when the wing came up on the wall, that there was something special about their relationship. Three moments that stuck with him: in Episode 3 saving the books in the church when they completely rely on the other for survival in the way that they were very open about, one in the car outside the nightclub in 60s Soho - the Holy Water, you go too fast for me, that genuinely tearing, that there was reluctance in those words that he spoke and that sort of things as a composer is gold, it’s about making those moments more, and in the last episode in a scene they’re not event in when we see Adam and Dog in the fields and Anathema that music there which celebrates Crowley and Aziraphale’s music which is the theme of the show - their shadow has passed over everyone’s emotional journey, and everyone’s emotional journey is theirs as well. The argument in the bandstand was important as well.

His favourite leitmotif from the series is the lullaby.

About the scene in the car in episode 2 when Thomas Tallis changes into Queen: Terry’s favourite piece of classical music was the Thomas Tallis piece [Spem in Alium] so Neil asked if they can go from Thomas Tallis - a choral piece from 16th century - to We Will Rock You, and: ‘You never say no. You don’t say that you can’t do it. What you have to do is to be the first person who solves the problem.’ In the end it was a two-days work just for this little bit and he mentioned that he never had these sorts of challenges anywhere else before.

His favourite non-musical detail in the show - the crucifixion, how the scene was shot, how it was upsetting, and how it was made more effective by Aziraphale and Crowley’s inability to stop it, that they had to observe and watch it, that it had to happen. I remember seeing that at the time and thinking, I wasn’t expecting that level of brutal honesty, in terms of the pictures that I was looking at and what they chose to show. And I think all the more effective for it. 

3. Claire Anderson (the costume designer)

When creating the costumes for the characters she started with mood boards. 

Aziraphale - she knew that he needed to have something winglike in his collar so that’s why there are sweeping lapels very often. Using velvet [for the waistcoat] because that was nice and soft and had all the appropriate qualities. His watch and fob that has little gold wings hanging from it and other tiny bits of symbolism. Tartan bow tie. Beautiful cashmere checkered trousers - not quite tartan but a nod to it. A mid to late Victorian coat, Michael only made his decision on the coat a couple of days before the filming. Aziraphale in the present settled on a ring with angelic symbol and harp cufflinks, earlier his ring in ancient times has got a much more roughly hewn set of wings on it, so before jewellery making became sophisticated he modernised slightly - he magicked it up to be a bit more modern, more gentleman signet type of ring, but he never modernises entirely. His heart is much more in the past.

After they began to define Aziraphale they started to look at how the Heaven army of angels might look - the element of tartan came sort of from Aziraphale and the angels have a not-tartan kilt with a semi military type jacket and a military band across that might hold arms or not, because they are not really violent. She used spats to make them look quite neutral and genderless so hiding fastenings and concealing little details like that seemed a way to do that.

Gabriel doesn’t wear spats because he’s on Earth such a lot. His shoe has a cover with two buckles on the side giving the same neutral element. He wears a cashmere light-as-air suit.

The other angels are all in bastardized versions of what era they may have died in, so they could have died in the 1930s or the 1800s and the costume would have an element of that era about it - though of course as an angel you can change things.

The Quartermaster Angel - the costume is a combination of slightly Indian type military, maharaja pants, longer spats from another era, all combined pieces of military tailored to be magical and slightly nonsensical, as Heaven might be.

Crowley - she felt that he wrapped around like a snake sheds its skin so she wanted something double breasted because that seemed to envelope his snakey charm. David wanted to be more casual than wearing a suit. Under his collar he always has a flash of red like the snake that he comes from - the red belly. They put a red seam into the sole of his boots so always there is a hint of where he came from. The red tie in the blitz. He was more rock and roll than Aziraphale and modernised more to a snakehipped rock and roll star really. His present jacket - the fabric there is quilted, they found an 80s jacket that had elements of things they enjoyed - part of that was that it had a slightly quilted quality to the fabric which was like a textured snakeskin. It took quite a long time to create the fabric and then to make the jacket from that - they quilted some fabric and washed and whooshed it repeatedly to create a bit of puckering in it. He has a snakey scarf around his neck like a chain mail linked scales of skin scarf that he wore that complemented his neck chain. The trousers he wore in Victorian times are the same he wore in the 60s when he meets young Shadwell. His present trousers - slightly waxy denim - we just were looking for a slithery finish. Crowley’s neck chain - there is only one in the world - her tailor has a Gothic church full of interesting stuff like busts and drapes with old things, this chain mail scarf was there and David was looking for something to complete his costume and liked it. 

Hastur and Ligur are her favourite characters - they were so enjoyable to create. She had an amazing book of 1920s and 30s criminals and they used that as a starting point, because they were all quite worn out and bedraggled and poverty stricken and like hell might be ideally. They burnt and decayed the bottom of them as if they were rotting from the Earth and rotting back into the ground - all demons have sort of gators as if they were rotting from the ground up.

One of the most difficult things was the demons - when they realized they had a few days to create hundreds of demons in South Africa (4-5 days for almost 200 demons). It was as if I had been dissolved in holy water when they asked me for another 150 costumes.

The sleeves of Anathema’s coat have been inspired by a Victorian cycling coat. 

The historical costume that Newt’s ancestor wore influenced his and Shadwell’s costumes - they used elements of the historical costume to put a little cape on Newt and Shadwell and their wax coats to give them the quality of that look. Newt's costume has a lot of mustard to make him feel a bit awkward and uncomfortable - it's not the most flattering colour on a northern European complexion.

The nuns’ headdress needed to look a little bit demonic - she bought a whole book on nuns’ headdresses for research. They also used the V in the nurse's apron because that was nicely demonic. The nurses' watch has got this Satanic symbol at the top - a little take on the medical since old nurses’ uniforms used to have watches.

For Madame Tracy she went back into the 70s, slightly Biba-esque makeup and a cape. They had only one pair of her goggles so it was always a nightmare to find them.

Which part of the cold opening is her favourite: I love ancient Rome because there is at least 6 to 12 metre of fabric in a toga and that was quite fun wrapping that around the boys and creating those., and her favourite was the Globe.

The lapels represent wings in every way and every shape and every form. Wings are very important.

4. Peter Anderson (Peter Anderson Studio created the opening title animation and in-show graphics)

The first thing that the director Douglas Mackinnon (with whom he worked on Doctor Who and Sherlock) said to him was: for all the graphics, for all the title sequence, for everything, I want you to promise me one thing, and that is very, very simple, promise that you send me emails that say: ‘this might be absolutely nuts, but my idea is...’.

The opening title it’s full of easter eggs - it’s a type of sequence that’s been designed to watch a thousand times, for example: on the escalator down to Hell there is one character running up deciding that he doesn’t want to go to Hell or the sea is full of plastic bags because we don’t look after the planet.

Every single face in the title sequence is either Crowley’s or Azriphale’s, they are repeated all the way through - inspired by Neil saying that there’s good and evil in all of us, so there is a grand procession of people of all the characters from the story - marching towards Armageddon - but all the characters have been taken over by good or evil. And along the way our two heroes are kind of playing tricks on each other, doing good, doing evil

The opening title combines multiple elements - two dimensional animation elements, three dimensional animation elements, CGI and live action (the people in the procession were created by live action on a travelator). So the result is a kind of strangeness - such as 3D figures with 2D animated tracked heads - which makes it unique.

Their first idea and version of the opening title was based on tapestries of old, subverting them, but then they wanted something more new and fresh.

Both Douglas and Neil were an important part of the opening title creation process.

The opening title sequence took about a year to make from the creative start with four intensive months towards the end.

One of things that inspired him was a Bauhaus theatre image from 1930s.

Question if the hand-drawn font for the graphics will be a purchasable font: no, because it was original and it’s unique and it was created just for this - it was for the love of the show and the story and it will be kept there.

In the scene where there are three photos of witchfinders - Neil and Douglas revealed in the DVD commentaries that two of them are their grandfathers - the third one is Peter’s great uncle.

Originally the signs telling us things like ‘Thursday’ or ‘Mesopotamia’ - were done as if somebody (who was living inside the television screen) ran up close to the screen and showed us the sign. In the end they simplified it, only showing the signs. The one time that it was sort of left in the show was when in Episode 5 a little demon in the video game shows a sign ‘GAME OVER’.

Outside of his work on it, what was his favourite thing on Good Omens: spending time with Douglas and Neil, and also working with Milk VFX - I think I can honestly say it's the best job I've ever worked on with the nicest people. 

5. Paul Adeyefa (Disposable Demon)

He first read the book when preparing for the audition - the character wasn’t in the book but he got into it, loved it and couldn’t put it down.

He didn’t know about the name Eric until the script was published and people started calling the demon that, he really likes the name and thinks it fits.

There was a version of the script where the demon was going to be dressed in different costumes each time he was discorporated (for example one in long hair wearing a dress) - they would be all the same but different incarnations, in one version they had different accents. 

The first scene he shot was the one where the demon goes to Heaven to deliver the Hellfire (and also wants to hit ‘Aziraphale’ which was cut). That first day was also his favourite moment of shooting because there was an immediate welcoming atmosphere and everyone was lovely and in love with the production.

Disposable Demon is like a permanent intern, running errands for the higher ups in Hell.

His favourite part of the costume were the eyelashes (though he loved the whole costume).

If he could change anything about the costume he would also want cool contact lenses - some brightly coloured ones.

Question what animal (like other demons have on their heads) comes to mind when we see the Disposable Demon: he didn’t think about it at the time, but later he saw people talking about his horns as bunny ears and found it interesting, and also the facts that there are so many of him and that he is quite happy and friendly for a demon so the bunny makes sense, so he might be a sort of a rabbit. Or perhaps something goat type because of the horns.

Question if there is another role in Good Omens he would have liked to have played: he always thought that the four horsemen were very cool and Pollution was his favourite so probably Pollution (also was the most jealous of Pollution’s contact lenses). 

If there were a season 2, he would be there in a heartbeat.

Question about Eric’s feelings on Crowley, if he’s a bit of a Crowley fan: I think he might be. There is something about Crowley and how he is somehow a little bit different from the rest of the demons. - and the Disposable Demon has, much like Crowley, interest in the human world. He could well be 6,000 how many years old, the same as everyone else, but he seems to have this younger vibe and I think he thinks that Crowley is quite cool.

Good Omens fandom is his first experience with a fandom of this scale. It speaks a lot, the fact that this kind of very, this minor character, a character who is only on screen for a very short amount of time gets any kind of attention at all, it's quite amazing really, it goes to show how big and enthusiastic the fans are. I never experienced anything like that.

6. Jeremy Marshall-Roberts (the owner of Mary the Bentley)

When Crowley used a miracle to switch off the Bentley lights in Episode 1 at nuns manor it was done by: there was actually a very small guy called Louis turning on and off the switches quickly.

David Tennant was allowed to wear the snake eye contacts for only 3 hours a day otherwise they could damage his eyesight.

For Mary, the Bentley, it was the second time she was ‘blown up’ on film - first being in the Endeavour with Inspector Morse about three years earlier.

He was a bit nervous during filming the bookshop fire scene because the Bentley was so close to a real fire - not wanting the paint to blister. The car was moved off after a few minutes of filming but still.

About the damage to Mary: Unfortunately, we overran, and Rob my stunt driver had already booked a holiday and off he went and so when he returned in January, on the 10th of January, I had this new driver who really had no clue how to drive old cars, so I showed him around, I showed him to go around corners. He came around the corner, the door was not closed properly for some reason and the door flew open as he went around. And instead of slamming on the brakes which is extremely efficient and would stop him straight away he kept on going, hit another car and really smashed the door quite badly. It did take the car off the roads for 10 months. The door was completely remade because of this accident and it cost the total of  £24 000 to rebuild the car to get it back to running as it is today.

The Bentley’s part most difficult to maintain and service is the engine. 

Would Mary be available for a potential season 2: definitely!

[bakugohoex]

Are you going to make part 3 of jeans this isn’t a date?

part three: “this isn’t a date jean, we’re undercover”

pairing: jean kirschtein x female reader

cw: fluff, angst, season 4 spoliers, major character death, kissing and comfort

word count: 2700+

a/n: the poll went for fluff ending but i still added some angst, originally i was going to kill you off so yeah this is what you guy’s are getting, a moderate sad ending with jean’s comfort

summary: in which the time for fighting has begun and with the success of eren and the capture of zeke, the long journey ahead back to paradis seems to be your only concern, until the arrival of an unexpected warrior creates turbulence with jean realising his only goal now is to protect you

part one | part two

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

The shock and horror stayed on the Marleyans faces, the sound of Eren chewing Lord Tybur up as if he meant nothing and then there were you two. Jean gave a nod as you both parted, his hand being the last thing you felt on your own, a sign of the love you both held for one another. The way they all ran away in fear as Eren marched towards the Marleyan soldiers, he had murdered so many people in an instant. But you knew worst of all you were about to do the same thing to them all. 

It all became a flash of thought, the way the war hammer titan’s bright yellow light rose up from the sky, you had begun flying closer to where the real action was. Leading a squad to easily infiltrate and kill the Marleyans, but even with these people by your side a sense of duty settled within you. 

Soaring through the air past the buildings and rubble until you finally saw the scene first hand, the white war hammer already hurting Eren and the signs of canons hitting him. You knew what was to come just as the War Hammer titan began thinking she had won, the one indestructible force arrived. Mikasa swung with ease as you watched in the air, shooting and using the thunder spears, you shot up from the air with your own squad. The way you all at ease began using the spears to kill the soldiers with such ease. 

“Good work guys.” You muttered slowly through the flames, moving closer onto where the canons were. You notice Jean a small smirk seeing you finally fighting after these past couple of months. He shot at the men who hadn’t been harmed, watching as you did the same. It began easier to swing with actual buildings and rubble, shooting at those who were fighting back, the fires and explosions that occurred bringing a sense of relief that you weren't the ones being murdered. 

You and Jean swung through the air, seeing as he grabbed a man to get up to the roof. “Grab my hand.” He whispers as you easily get swung over onto the roof. Both you and Jean leave heavy breathes at all the blood on your hands. “Those morons.”

You both had seen the flash of another explosion, Jean more pissed off that normal, “Jean.” It was only a mere whisper, but he was pissed at Floch’s shooting. 

“Hey! You gonna burn the whole zone down?!” What part of keeping civilian casualties to a minimum don’t you get, Floch?” You easily chased after the brunette, who began shouting at Floch as usual. 

Floch turned to meet you both, staring at the scene in front of you of fires and explosions. You didn’t care for his words, but you saw as he began shaking his hands violently. You moved away from the two of them wanting to see the action and if any Marleyan soldiers were near to kill. Floch continued rambling onto Jean as you the cold hard truth had been brought to light. This was a battle to kill, the only ones you needed being Eren and his brother, revenge was the main cause of this all. Your people’s revenge. 

“Y/n.” Jean softly whispers as you watch the fire, the men around you dead as you both begin waiting for the rest of the squads to meet here. You could already see the beacons of lights appear throughout the city, knowing the plan seemed to be working. 

You turn to face Jean, even with blood across your fingers and clothes, he still looked at you as if you were the prettiest woman he had ever met. “I did promise a date if we got out of this right?” He touches your cheek softly, fire blazing across the ruined zone. 

“You did but remember what I’ve said many times.” You paused as you urged him to think. 

“This isn’t a date Jean, we’re undercover.” He mocked giving a sign as you playfully pushed his arm. 

You see a Marleyan soldier in the distance, gun up ready to shoot you down. “Yeah, I do say that a lot, but move.” You shouted the last part, Jean in an instant moved to the other side finally seeing what you saw as you quickly shot the man down with the gun that had been at your side. 

“Look at you saving me.” He mutters softly, if you haven't seen the man, they’d have gotten shot, he knew he’d have to keep protecting you but even then, he knew you could handle those idiot Marleyans yourself. 

You both saw Connie and Sasha in an instant, Connie the first to say, “Jean, Y/n, we stalled the reinforcements.” 

Jean went to the ground checking on the thunder spears as he turned to face them both, “and the lights?” You questioned. 

“They’re all-in place.” Sasha spoke.

“Are things going well?” Connie questioned as both you and Jean looked at each other hesitantly. 

“For the time being.” Jean almost whispers out as you turn to face the two of them properly. You all see Mikasa sore through the air as Jean continued, “as long as we take that thing out in time. But who knows? Anything can happen at this point. What’s to come when this battle is over? For us to know, we have to survive.”

The feeling that the last part had been directed at you felt unsettling, you would survive. You had to survive and be with Jean if that was the last thing you ever did. Mikasa shot the War Hammer Titan in the eye as you went to grab some thunder spears yourself, it felt like everything had easily worked in your favour with minimum casualties. Another flash of yellow leading to Eren’s Attack titan being seen with the hard form of one of the Tybur’s ready to be eaten. 

“Come on Eren.” You softly whispered looking at the scene at hand, the way Eren was just about to eat it when the Jaw titan came out of nowhere. It seemed like you had spoken to soon, the four of you in shock as the Jaw titan bit into Eren’s neck until the blades hitting the enemy titan was heard from humanities greatest solider with murder on his mind. 

The sound of guns shooting through the air made you startle until both you and Jean swung through the air. Ready to shoot at the Cart titan, Jean moved through the air, but it seemed the guns had become too much as both of you landed in a building. “Y/n.” Jean shouted bringing you behind a table as you heard the gunshots occur, he held his body around you as you cowered into him before it stopped. “I’ve got you.”

Instead the whole building rumbling at the sight of another titan coming, both you and Jean looked out through the broken window seeing it, “the Beast Titan.” Both you and Jean flew out from the building seeing the two other men follow in suit, before those around you got killed as well. “Jean, we have to stop them both.”

“I know.” He mutters before flying into a building with you beside him, the sounds of rubble falling from the broken-down rocks that the Beast Titan had thrown at you all. “Y/n, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You mutter from the ground, the sign of a much brighter light occurred, and you knew exactly who it was, Armin had transformed destroying the ships. Swinging through the air as Levi quickly dropped the Beast Titan in a matter of seconds. Distracting the Cart’s titans weapons seemed easy enough but with the mass amounts of weapons you couldn’t tell and that’s what allowed Sasha to easily shoot one of the men down. The Cart titan began moving towards Sasha, Jean in an instant appearing putting a spear right in the eye as you and the men watched before the command was heard. 

“Now! Fire!” It was all you all needed to shoot down the Cart titan in a matter of seconds, fire blazing as you had won against the titan. Flying away from the scene with ease with the other members of the Survey Corps, you stood on the roof watching the men shoot upwards towards you Jean and the rest of the group. The sight of the airship surrounding the air brought a relief to you, you could finally go home, leave Marley with a victory. 

“It's here.” Connie spoke just as you flew onto the roof where the rest of the guys were. 

“Yeah. Right on time.” You bent down to meet Jean, a hand on his shoulder as he gave a soft sign knowing that you were safe. 

A victory had been won, the gain of the War Hammer titan and Eren’s defeat of Reiner’s titan seemed to come with no cost to your friends. “I’ve run out of gas.” You whisper to Jean. 

“Grab onto me.” He holds your waist as you put your arm around his neck, both ready to finally go home. He grabs onto the ship, your body still on his own as he shouts, “protect the airship from the enemy below.”

You couldn’t do a lot in this state, but victory had occurred, and you could finally go home. Being helped up by Connie and Sasha you could finally feel safe, before helping Jean up himself. Both lying beside each other with a heavy breath, Jean finally spoke, “who’s here?”

“We’re still waiting for Squad Lima in the front.” Connie speaks watching how Jean's hand had moved to your own as the two came closer to you both. 

Sasha spoke of the death toll, before the excitement of Floch and the rest of the corps occurred over a successful victory. Jean whispered some words that were barely audible and that’s when he felt it, your arms wrapped around him, he kissed the side of your head allowing his arms to wrap around you as well. Connie brought Sasha along with him to elope himself onto the two of you, it felt just as it had in your first years as a Cadet. One happy family was brought together again. 

It brought a smile to your face, but with Jean there always seemed to be a problem, “that hurts, idiot. Don’t hug people with that lump of iron on.” He watched you all leave his side, but his arms almost missed your touch. 

“Jean don’t be mean.” You chuckle as Connie begins mocking Jean’s unsuccessful beard. Sasha began questioning about food as you began remembering the days when the three of you would have to hear Sasha go on about the next meal occurring. 

“We’re finally going home.” Jean mutters looking at you as he stands up to meet your gaze fully. He grabs your waist with an ease before giving you a soft kiss on your lips, he stopped caring about those around you both. Watching as melted right into his touch. “I love you.” He whispers through it all. 

You grab his hair to bring him down, his tongue flicking inside your own as it entangled with your own. Before finally taking a breath of your own away from him, Connie and Sasha’ eyes go wide. “I love you too.” Jean held your hand softly before you both turned to your two friends. 

“I fucking told you, didn’t I, you owe me meat when we get back.” Sasha happily spoke to Connie, as you both went beside them listening to the hurray’s of victory. 

Sasha had whispered something to Jean making the boy let go of your hand to shut the people up, “Hey, quiet down!” You moved to the side to let him past, feeling his hand on your back to make them all be quieter. 

You continued hearing the celebrations, Connie asking about Lobov as you were just glad that all your friends seemed to be safe. You stood on the other end of Jean beside the wall, leaning against it as you almost wished you could have the same innocence in this celebration that the others had. 

The sound of a child behind you made you all startle, seeing a girl with her gun raised, “Sasha.” You shouted but the bullet had already been shot right into her chest. You were unable to move, eyes widening as you easily caught her just before she was about to hit the ground. You slowly let her down, eyes widening at how blood seeped onto your clothes and hands, she stayed in your arms, her head against your knees as tears formed in your eyes. “Sasha, come on, you...you’ll make it, come on.” 

Just as Gabi was ready to shoot again, Jean put his gun out, but the other cadets got at her and the boy first. Connie came running towards Sasha, hand on her cheek, “stay with us!”

“Pl...please, don’t leave me.” You whispered, feeling her head become heavy on your, blood continuing to seep out.  Jean knelt beside you as he saw the tears drop down your face and fall down your own. “Sasha.” You wept out. 

She began speaking about food, her breath heavy as Connie pleaded for her to continue, with her last words being the one thing she truly loved, Connie watched as he got bandaged up, your body encased in blood as tears continued to drop down your face with no end. She was your best friend, and you couldn’t do anything, Jean could barely even look at her near dead state, his gaze ending up on the two children after Floch had called him.

You tried to suppress your tears, you did but every time you faced your friend, more and more formed. Your breathing irregular as it became harder and harder to even speak a word. The sound of the child's voice shouting about devils and other shit, made your tears turn into anger, in an instant you went right up to her face ready to punch her yourself. “Y/n.” Jean gave a soft whisper, “take them with me.” You continued to be filled with rage as you walked them down to where the rest of your friends were. 

Armin was the first to notice the blood across your body and the puffed-up eyes, but the two children had brought about more confusion instead. Their eyes widened at the sight of Zeke, you didn't care for their confusion, instead Levi asked who they were. Unable to speak, you let Jean speak until the very end, “this girl shot Sasha.” Tears welled up in your eyes again, “it...it doesn’t seem like she will make it…”

Armin and Mikasa ran past the two of you, you could barely move to run with them. Your legs felt heavy as you sobbed at your words, tears continuing to fall down your face. Standing in the corner, your hands at your eyes as you sobbed quietly, you prayed she would be okay. Hoped for a miracle to occur where everything was fine, and she never actually got shot. But that’s when you felt the blood on your clothes, the blood on your face and hands. The blood everywhere, Jean began shouting at Yelena, you ignored all sounds as all you wanted to hear was your crying.

The sound of the door opening made you move to see who it was, Connie appearing with a horrified face, as you and Jean both stared at him. “Sasha…” He paused making your head think she was okay, that she was alive, “she’s dead.”

Your whole life crumbled in an instant, you felt your knees go weak as you fell to the ground, Jean catching you as he felt with you, his arms around you. You sobbed into his shoulder, wailing with no end. Your friend was dead, the girl you had grown up gone in a matter of seconds, dead because of a stupid little girl. 

Jean’s eyes widened as tears formed his own eyes as he held you close. He stopped caring about the mission, stopped hearing others, only seeing you. He couldn’t let what had happened to Sasha occur to you, he couldn't. He would protect you with his last breath, and now with you in his arms a crying mess, he’d keep that promise he made to you when you had just met at 12, he’d keep the promise. Never wanting to see you cry like this ever again, because you were always going to be his, and he’d be damned to let anything happen to you. 

go back to part two

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[oreoambitions]

Would love to see supercorp “I’ve never been festive”! Glad to see you back on my dashboard!

The thing about Lena, Kara thinks to herself as she strolls down Main Street with her hands shoved in her pockets, is that she wants to seem tough. That's the problem in a nutshell. And anyone else here in Midvale would tell you that it's just a city thing, that all the city kids want to seem tough, that Lena is no exception, but Kara doesn't think that's true. Well, okay, she knows it's true. But with Lena, it's something else. Something deeper. Something maybe related to the way that Lena has withdrawn into herself day by day as Midvale has begun to dress itself up for the holidays.

But Kara can do I'm-so-tough. She can do I-hate-Christmas, and she can do I-don't-believe-in-fun because at this time of the year she can do anything and get through to anyone. A little bit of light, a little bit of magic... maybe a little bit of love. That's how Christmas goes, right? Especially in a place like Midvale.

Kara likes to think of Midvale as a postcard town: the kind of town folks are only ever passing through on their way up and down the coast, a scenic detour, a cozy place to spend the night or just the afternoon before you move along. It's a place where time seems to have come to a standstill or at least a crawl, where it was a big deal when the first (and only) Starbucks opened, where nothing at all is open after 8pm, and you'd be hard pressed to run any errands on a Sunday, and you'd better not let Mrs. Nal catch you doing anything untoward or you can expect you'll be the topic of every conversation in or out of church for the next week or so at least. Kara would know; she's been the talk of the town on more than one occasion.

But these last several weeks the talk of the town has been the young woman who pulled up one evening in a car worth probably more than every vehicle on Main Street put together and strolled into the aforementioned Starbucks in a beat up hoodie sporting red rimmed eyes and trembling hands to ask the barista whether possibly anyone had a spare phone cable. She didn't want to bother anyone, only she'd left Metropolis in a hurry and forgotten hers and without GPS she didn't have any idea where she might stop to purchase one. She'd slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter as payment for the manager's beat up old charger and rolled right back out of town before anyone could tell her just how far from home she was.

Only then she'd rolled back into town some six hours later and booked herself into the bed and breakfast. And then she hadn't left.

The Danvers have assured Kara that in all the years Eliza and Jeremiah have run the bed and breakfast, and all the years Jeremiah's parents ran it before that, stretching back all the dusty decades since Midvale was founded, they have never had a longterm guest, no sir. It has simply never happened before. Kara doubts the veracity of such a statement but it has been delivered to her with all the solemn weight of sacred fact, and so she's taken it in stride - something which Alex seems to have found suspicious. And, true, on another occasion Kara might have been found elbow deep in records on a personal mission to prove that Jeremiah has pulled this particular historical "factoid" from some place the sun don't shine, but, well, she's been a little distracted these past weeks. Distracted by sad green eyes and coy smiles and the overwhelmingly mysterious circumstances that have delivered Lena directly into Kara's home.

Unfortunately Eliza has strictly forbidden Kara from asking the hundred and one questions perpetually on the tip of her tongue, and Kara's objections that she's twenty four now and she'll ask her questions if she so pleases haven't actually outweighed the sense that, at least where Eliza is concerned, she ought to do as she's told. So she's restrained herself. And as the weeks have gone by, she and Lena have fallen into an amicable, if not entirely comfortable, routine.

Kara serves Lena breakfast in the dining room with the other guests at precisely 8:15 every morning: two poached eggs with avocado on a thick slice of Winn's sourdough bread, a cup of coffee (black, diluted with hot water), and a side of roasted vegetables (no potatoes). Every morning Lena invites Kara to join her at the table, though Kara only does so when there are no other guests around to serve. They eat - together or not - in a silence broken only by small talk and the occasional lingering gaze when one catches the other looking until, at precisely 9:15, Lena excuses herself to seek out Eliza and enquire after the availability of another night's lodging. She pays in cash, one day at a time, without fail. She and Kara see one another again on the stairs, Kara on her way out to work a shift at the library and Lena on her way back up to her room. A small smile passes between them, affectionate and familiar, and Kara thinks perhaps... But no, the moment has passed and they've gone their separate ways for another day.

Kara has resolved that this pattern will not repeat itself again. Not now, not when Midvale is draped in heavy golds and greens, when the smell of Christmas pastry is wafting through the streets, when the trickle of seasonal tourists is threatening to become a thunder which will by necessity pry Kara's attention away. Not now when Lena is withdrawing further and further, when those lingering glances at breakfast seem to be few and far between, and it seems the onslaught of Christmas cheer is threatening to drive Lena out of Midvale altogether. If Kara is going to get through to her, today is the day.

She swings into J'onn's diner with a determined expression, sidestepping the younger Arias who has eyes these days only for her iphone and not so much for where she's going. J'onn is predictably behind the counter; Kara isn't sure he's taken a day away from the diner in all the time she's known him.

"I need two to go mugs of Bad Day Danvers Brew," she tells him. "It's urgent."

He plops two large paper cups down onto the counter almost before she's done asking. "I thought your sister was on duty tonight."

"She was. Is. It's not- It's for me."

"I don't suppose this has anything to do with a certain green eyed young lady from out of town."

It's not really a question the way J'onn says it but Kara somehow still feels pressured to answer. She flushes, turns away, scans the room. The dinner rush hasn't quite arrived. J'onn bustles about behind the counter without further comment, though he does arch an accusatory brow when Kara meets his eyes again.

"You do know," he says as he slides the drinks across the counter, "She's going to leave this place. She may not be ready yet, but the day is coming."

Kara frowns at him. "Leave is a four letter word."

"L - e - a -"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe you should consider it too. Whole world out there waiting for you, Little Danvers. Seems a shame not to go out and see it."

Kara thinks for a moment of this world as she saw it first: a little marble hanging in a black sea, so fragile and small, so far away from home. Midvale is home now, and she'll be damned if she's going to leave it behind. She forces a smile for J'onn's sake.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she says. She tries to pay him for the drinks. As he has a hundred times before, he turns her money away. Kara slips the cash into the tip jar on her way out the door.

When she gets home it's to the smell of apple pies bubbling in the oven and the sound of some old 50's Christmas record playing almost too loud for Jeremiah's battered old bluetooth speaker and hardly loud enough to compete with Jeremiah himself. Kara creeps up the stairs two at a time, one Bad Day Danvers Brew clutched in either hand, quiet quiet quiet. If Eliza catches her she'll try to put her to work and Kara isn't sure she can explain exactly what she means when she says she's too "busy" right now to help out.

She occupies herself with that thought, thinking up excuses for Eliza, each one more improbable than the last, and then she finds herself standing in front of Lena's door. She feels suddenly grimy, foolish, clumsy. What she hasn't considered in all her planning for this moment is that with both hands occupied she can hardly knock on Lena's door, and with her heart pounding an urgent rhythm in her chest and her body trembling with something that is distinctly not fatigue Kara doesn't trust herself to tuck one of the drinks into the crook of her arm.

So she does what any sane person would do: she kicks the door. Gently. As gently as she possibly can, but it still feels brutish and Kara winces as the sound of it tumbles down the hall to clash with Jeremiah's crooning and the roar of the vacuum cleaner in the foyer. Grimy, foolish, clumsy. But then the door swings open and all such thoughts fall from Kara's mind.

She has words picked out for this moment but they don't come to her. Lena stands in the doorway in jeans and a cardigan and socks that have bumble bees on them and Kara feels like she needs just a moment but the moment is already passing. Green eyes search hers, curious, bemused. Kara wants to reach out and tuck that stray lock of hair away, but-

The drinks. Right. "I brought refreshments," she says, proferring the paper cups. "For us," she adds, in case it isn't clear.

Lena reaches out for one of the cups, hesitant, then pries the lid off to take a whiff. "Hot chocolate?"

Kara wants to melt on the spot but she sticks to her guns. "It's special hot chocolate," she clarifies. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go. She had this exchange all planned out, there were contingencies, it was all perfect and here she is muddying it all up. "I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight."

"Like on a date?"

Oh, Rao. Kara's eyes drops to Lena's mouth without her say so and then they travel a little further south to the line of that cardigan and she swallows. "No," she forces out, "like on a walk?"

There's a long pause and then Lena laughs. "You're really very charming, Danvers," she says, and Kara feels an unexpected thrill at the sound of her last name in Lena's mouth. "Let me just get my sweater."

"You're already-" Kara starts, but the door clicks shut before she can finish. "Wearing a sweater," she mumbles to herself.

Lena emerges some minutes later, just when Kara is beginning to get fidgety. She's thrown on a hoodie which is perhaps a size too big and a pair of converse rather the worse for wear and Kara isn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't this. Which is not to say that she doesn't like it. Lena licks her lips and fixes Kara with a pointed look.

"There is whisky in that hot chocolate," she says.

Kara shrugs. "I did say it was special."

They make it down the stairs and out of the bed and breakfast without Eliza noticing, though Kara is all but certain Jeremiah saw them leave together and will have Questions with a capital Q about it later. The sun is just now sinking below the horizon as the two of them turn down Main Street, ducking around Mr. Schott who is occupying most of the sidewalk with a rickety old ladder in an attempt to install another strand of lights above the toy store window. Already the street lamps bear oversized red bows and long, heavy pine garlands, and it will be only a matter of days now before every storefront from here to the edge of town is bright and warm and magical. Kara takes it all in with a growing smile. Lena takes it in with an expression that borders on an outright scowl.

"So are we going anywhere in particular?" Lena asks. They duck around a knot of visitors asking after a table at the brewery and for an instant Kara is almost certain she feels Lena's fingers brush hers.

"We are," Kara admits. And then, because she doesn't want to give away their destination, she adds, "You don't like Christmas."

Lena grimaces and takes a long sip of the Bad Day Danvers Brew. "I wouldn't say that I don't like Christmas."

"But?"

"But I've never been festive. And this year..."

Kara's mind fills in the words that Lena doesn't say: This year it's hard. Hard to see the joy and the magic and the laughter all around when you're alone and far from home. Well, Kara knows a thing or two about that. She takes a sip of her own drink and, resolutely, carefully, looking straight ahead, she reaches out to touch Lena's hand, so gentle it could have been an accident.

"This year you have me," Kara says. She's shocked the line comes out of her mouth as smoothly as it does. Her heart is so far up her throat she almost fears she'll choke on it.

Lena steps in closer until Kara swears she can feel the heat radiating between them even through both of Lena's sweaters and her own Christmas flannel. They walk in silence for a block or so, shoulders bumping once in a while, before Lena asks, "Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?"

Kara shrugs. "I like the carols. Jeremiah and I always go out caroling on Christmas eve. Oh! And the cookies. Pie for breakfast on Christmas morning."

Lena laughs at that. "Pie for breakfast? Lilian - my step mother - she'd have a fit."

"Well you can have pie with us this year if you want; I promise not to tell Lilian a thing. If you're still hanging around."

Lena looks at her sharply and then looks away, leaving Kara to feel silent and small and a little rejected. But Lena touches Kara's wrist as they move through the crowd and then, when Kara doesn't pull away, she takes her hand.

"Christmas is always an important social event for my family," Lena says. She glances at Kara as if to check that she's listening and then away again so quickly that Kara almost wonders if she imagined it. "Everything has to be perfect. The food, the decorations, the music. The family. And it's beautiful, really. Imagine a pine tree towering up to the very rafters, all the ornaments carefully curated and arranged, and a cellist flown in from Italy perches in the corner playing O Come Emmanuel while the city's elite pass through pretending to enjoy bite sized Christmas pastries prepared overnight by a team flown in from France. I suspect it would feel magical if it weren't so much work. It's hard to enjoy the magic when you're a part of it. Especially as a child."

Kara frowns. Her fingers tighten around Lena's, tugging her ever forward towards the Christmas tree in the center of town. She's thinking of Krpyton, of a perfect family, a perfect people, and a perfect world crumbling under the veneer. But she can't say that to Lena, so she flashes her a bright smile instead and says, "In Midvale, everyone who wants to gets to put an ornament on the town tree."

"Everyone? That doesn't seem practical. There have to be, what, at least a thousand people living here."

Kara nods. "Yeah. Not everyone participates, but most people. And of course that means the tree isn't curated like your family's, but it's got a special kind of magic to it. The kind you get when you aren't trying to make magic follow the rules."

It occurs to Kara that there is a sort of comedic timing to this, as this is the moment Kara steps over the low fence with the sign that reads "do not walk on the grass" and tugs a protesting Lena after into the shade - or, in this case, the light - of the Midvale tree.

"Rules," Lena is saying, "Generally exist for a reason, and when you break them willy nilly you don't get magic, you get chaos. It's important to- Wait, is this your Christmas tree?"

"Yep," Kara says. She reaches out to press a hand to the trunk and then stares up at the tiny golden lights wound among the branches with care, ornaments dangling here and there, some homemade and some not. She's definitely not supposed to get this close to it but, well, it's Alex on duty tonight and she doubts her sister is about to arrest her for trying to make a move on a pretty girl. "This is the one."

"But it's an oak tree," Lena observes. She steps up beside Kara to touch the trunk.

"Couple hundred years old, or so they told us in middle school," Kara says. "She's a gorgeous tree, isn't she? Not a pine and not perfect, but. Our own kind of magic." Then she grimaces. "Sorry; I'm being terribly cheesy right-"

"Did you know that mistletoe often grows in the California oak?" Lena interrupts.

Kara falters. She did know that, but this tree is carefully tended. No mistletoe here. She opens her mouth to say so when Lena holds up a finger to stop her again.

"To be perfectly clear I'm suggesting that we kiss here under this tree. Because you're charming and a little over the top and I hate that I love your Christmas flannel and I would very much like to have pie with you on Christmas morning. So if you'd like we can pretend there's mistletoe in the Midvale Christmas tree. It would be a very reasonable mistake; mistletoe really does grow on-"

Kara kisses her. The surprised gasp that falls from Lena's lips almost makes her laugh, but this is a serious moment so she tries to keep it in. She's got only one hand to work with - the other is still hold her Bad Day Danvers Brew - so she slides it around Lena's waist to pull her closer, and it's her turn to gasp when Lena tilts her head to slide her tongue along Kara's bottom lip.

Someone on the sidewalk cheers, and that is when Lena drops her drink. And then they do laugh together there under the tree, spiked hot chocolate splattered over the bottom of Lena's pants, Kara pressing her own drink into Lena's hands, and the sound of Mrs. Nal nearby screeching about public indecency while James tells her to go suck an egg. The two of them will be the talk of the town for weeks. Certainly through New Years. Kara doesn't think she minds.

///

Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating; Happy Holidays and a lovely morning to everyone who is not! Thank you for this prompt! I expected to write a quick 800 words but it got away from me and took all month.

[ratingtheframe]

10 Films to watch this Valentine’s Day if you’re single as hell.

If anyone or anything is making you feel worthless on the Capitalist Holiday that is Valentine’s Day because you’re single AF, then don’t fret because it means one of two things;

You’re happy enough with yourself to not need anyone else.

You’re allergic to people.

Though mine is both the former and the latter, I can still get down to a good romance movie now and again. Now I’m not talking about those horrendous rom coms that Netflix seems to be churning out every damn minute, but those emotionally invested, earthy and well written dramas that has you ugly crying into your bathrobe for 17 minutes straight (me at the end of Her.). Here is a compiled list of some of the best romance films I’ve seen over the years and how each one doesn’t showcase an abundance of clichés and brands them as “acts of love”.

A Star is Born (2018 or 1953, take your pick)

I’ve found that both the 1953 version of A Star is Born with Judy Garland and the 2018 newer version to be a perfect and well rounded love story. What makes this love story so fierce is the vulnerabilities and downfall of its characters, which even though there are many sad moments, it perpetuates and strengthens the acts of love shown in the film. Both versions are similar in that they follow a woman who’s rise to fame as a performer becomes overshadowed by her jealous partner, who is also a notable celebrity. In the 2018 version starring Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, Gaga’s character Ally is helped by a country singer, Jackson Maine to become a successful singer and icon amongst the music industry. As she rises, Jackson falls and the character dynamics and intensity between them is a fitting love story. I was thoroughly bawling at the end and I guarantee you will too as Lady Gaga’s rendition of Love Again was the true scene stealer of the film. 

Call me by your name (2017)

I have an incredible bias towards this film and it has nothing to do with the film’s context or characters or even Timothée Chalamet The reason why I feel so connected to this film and proclaim it as my favourite film of all time is because of when I watched the film. It’s almost like seeing a film about a political event right after it's happened; you have this rush and connection towards something that’s actually affected you in the real world. I had the same feeling with Call me by your name after going through a rough and confusing patch whilst trying to get over someone I thought I truly loved. Turns out I didn’t (thank god) and yet Call me your name was almost like a shoulder to cry on. It’s a film that’s taught me to love and love hard but most importantly, not beat yourself up or try to distinguish the pain felt by true love. If you haven’t been fortunate to catch this beauty of a film, it follows two men, Elio (Timothée Chalamet) and Oliver (Armie Hammer) and their brief relationship in the summer of 1983 in Northern Italy. 17 year old Elio lives with his parents and his father (Michael Stuhlbarg) is a scholar who invites students from outside the country for the summer in hope of passing on his wisdom to them. This is when Oliver arrives, a handsome twenty something American who becomes the infatuation of Elio. 

I’ll never forget the first time I heard the monologue that Elio’s father gave his son at the end, explaining to Elio why he shouldn’t feel embarrassed by the pain he felt after loving Oliver:

“We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster, that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste”

That, ladies and gentlemen and all in between, is what love is.

Her. (2013)

Once again, another film about love that had a profound effect on me because of when I watched it. Her. follows the story of Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) and his search for a story using an A.I to help him write. However, after getting to know this A.I named Samantha (Scarlett Johansson) and hearing the way she adapts and shows emotions, he soon falls in love with it. Some may deem this as rather sad (which it is) but I think it speaks to bigger constructs like internet dating and letting go of people you loved thus diminishing the fantasy and world you created for the two of you. This part of the film got to me a stark way as I felt the pain of letting go of not only a person, but a fantasy, just like Theodore had to do in letting his past partners go. Her. is truly beautiful, with some great production design, cinematography and acting.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

The absolute queen of love stories would be Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a film about the romance between two women in the late 18th Century. Definitely not a narrative you see every day or one that’s been painted in such a way (pun intended). Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is commissioned to paint the beautiful and stubborn Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) and the portrait is to be gifted to a suitor of Héloïse’s from Milan. But instead of getting the painting done and sending it off, Marianne and Héloïse unexpectedly fall for one another at a subtle and well timed pace that had me gawping at the screen the entire way through. Slow, sensual and moving is Portrait of a Lady on Fire and I would definitely say is one of the best LGBTQ plus films ever made to date.

Broke Back Mountain (2005)

Ang Lee scooped up a BAFTA, Golden Globe and Oscar for his direction on his adapted screenplay of Brokeback Mountain. Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) form a romantic bond after shepherding alone together on the side of a mountain. Once their time herding sheep comes to a close and they return back to their respective lives, it's clear that their bond is stronger than they had anticipated. They live in constant fear of their relationship becoming apparent to those around them, which leaves one of them taking matters into their own hands. A controversial yet extremely successful film of its time, Brokeback Mountain does a fabulous job of showcasing the consequences and despair of love using two of Hollywood’s finest actors.

Carol (2013)

It’s difficult to fully appreciate LGBTQ plus films set in the past as they mostly focus on the persecution of homosexuals as opposed to the love they wish to express. However, this was pretty accurate of the time and it's only very recently that we have begun to accept one another’s sexualities and genders fully so much that we play these stories out on screen without the persecution part. Carol is a film directed by Todd Haynes and stars Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett. I found them to be an extremely intense pairing whilst they unravelled as their characters on screen. Therese (Rooney Mara) works in the toy department of a department store when one day she lays eyes upon Carol Aird, a beautiful and elegant married woman who becomes the infatuation of Therese. Therese throws all caution to the wind in order to be closer to Carol and because of this and the 1950s society they live in, their relationship is doomed from the beginning. I was in complete awe of the way Carol had been shot and created into this sensual and rich drama set in the 1950s. From the costumes, to the lighting to the acting, everything about Carol held weight to it showcasing the devotion of a truly talented director.

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind (2004)

Usually I’d pass on a Charlie Kaufman film, seeing as they make no sense, however I felt that it was time I delved into this cult classic starring Kate Winslet, Jim Carrey, Kirsten Dunst, Mark Ruffalo and Elijah Wood. It’s a really well made film with a clear and distinct message to it that’s represented in some phenomenal filmmaking techniques. The plot line of this film follows a man trying to erase a past lover and his memories of her get wiped away physically before your eyes on screen. It made me wish that I could do the same with people I’ve liked in the past, but the contradictory of this would be the trauma of eventually ending up with someone you had already met in another life. I haven’t experienced a break up nor felt the pain of one, though I could judge that this film tells that experience really well.

Moonlight (2016)

Moonlight is one of few films that I would genuinely worship if it were a religion. It's also one of the films that I outwardly shame people for not having seen, as it is truly a masterpiece and film lover’s film. Deep, emotionally connected, colourful, harsh, moving and eye opening, this film takes you on an emotional rollercoaster through the eyes of Chiron and the three stages of his life that have carved out his essence as a human being. Not only that, but he falls in love with another boy at his school, and when he does, he’s hurt rather badly. Literally. Moonlight is the definition of profundity and was awarded the top prize of Best Picture at the 2017 Academy Awards. 

Loving (2016)

When I think of a truthful and honest testament of love, the film Loving comes to mind which is a fitting title for such a delicate yet strong story. The film is based on a true story of an interracial couple, Richard and Mildred (Joel Edgerton and Ruth Negga) being banned from Virginia in the 1950s for choosing to be together. If that ain’t a true sacrifice of love, then I don’t know what is. Choosing someone you love over your own home is an unfathomable thing and certainly shows the strength that this couple had in facing the judgements of others whilst remaining emotionally truthful to themselves. 

The Shape of Water (2017)

The Shape of Water is a strange yet enlightening love story between Eliza, a deaf woman (Sally Hawkins) and a creature being tested on in a laboratory. Awards season went mental for this back in 2018, winning four of the THIRTEEN Oscars it was nominated for. I would categorize it as quite the niche film and wouldn’t usually think that such a film could be garnered with Oscar success. However everyone who worked on this film really pulled out the stops in creating an entire new world and perspective that has many layers to it, as well as an abundance of conflict and dynamics for audiences to lull over. The relationship between Eliza and the feared swamp monster that’s being cruelly tested in the laboratories where she works, is heartfelt and honest, which is strange seeing as Eliza’s virtually in love with a monster. The casting in this was outlandish yet it really worked as all actors in this melded well into the story as their prospective characters. It also has one of the most touching endings to a film I’ve ever seen.

And there you have it, ten Romance films for you to enjoy this Valentine’s Day. Watch them all at once, or maybe just watch one. Whether you watch it alone or with someone, it doesn’t really matter!

Lots of love

Ang x

[controloffandoms]

An update for those who want to know how the Vampire!Buck fic is going. 

Words: 12,932 and counting (because even as I give this update, I’m going to continue writing for an hour or two.)

I’m still on the tsunami. So...you know it’s just going to get longer and longer as I work through the seasons...what can I say? I enjoy world building when things change in fanon.

“Hey, man...we really need to wrap that arm before you go off searching again,” one man called as Buck had begun to walk again. 

Buck glanced down at his arm...it had been where Christopher had clawed at him to keep from getting separated...Chris. He had to find Christopher. Striped shirt, red glasses, curly blond/brown hair. “Have you seen a boy? Striped shirt, red glasses, curly blond/brown hair,” his words were slurred even in his own ears. 

The man in front of him shook his head, “you asked me that a few minutes ago...you should take a moment to sit down. Let me wrap that arm, you drink a bottle of water, and then I’ll point you to the emergency hospital set up at the old VA.”

“I gotta find...Chris - little boy, striped shirt, red glasses, curly - curly brownish blond hair.”

The man nodded, biting his lip, “I know. But you need to be alive to do that. With the way your arm is bleeding, you won’t make it to find your son, okay? Let me help you.”

Buck lets the man lead him to a crate. He sits when prompted, a water bottle shoved into his uninjured arm. The man quickly wraps his arm and forces Buck to drink the water. It causes Buck to fight from vomiting it back up...what he needs is blood...but he doesn’t have time to track down blood bags and he isn’t attacking an innocent civilian. “Where’s - where’s the old VA?” 

“Go down Sunset, take a right and Kingston and four blocks down, you’re at the hospital.” The man bit his lip, passing him some protein bars, “I hope you find your son.”

“Me too,” Buck whispers as he pushes himself up. His leg protests the movement, but he has to find Christopher.

~~~~~~~

Buck stumbles towards the VA. The bright lights burn his corneas that had adjusted to the low light of the night. He bumps into a nurse with a clipboard, “have,” he clears his throat, “have you s-seen a boy. Red glasses, striped shirt, curly blond/brown hair? His - His name is Chris - Christopher Diaz. He’s nine.” 

The woman goes through the pages on her clipboard. He can hear how her heart stutters as she flips to the last page. She glances at him shaking her head, “I’m sorry. I don’t see his name here...you can check the black tents,” she suggests, pity lining her features. 

Buck feels his stomach roll at the thought. The black tents would be for the dead. 

He stumbles towards the tent, another responder looking at him with pinched eyes. “Do - Do you have a - a - a phone I could - I could borrow? I need...I need to call my sister.” 

The man loans him his phone as Buck enters the tent, eyes searching over the dead. He does throw up a little in his mouth as he takes in all the men, women, and children in the tent. The smell of death is so overwhelming, but he doesn’t see Chris. He goes to the next black tent and the next until he gets through them all. He lets the contents of his stomach spill to the ground behind the last tent, hugging the phone in his hands tightly.

He calls Maddie as soon as his stomach stops revolting. She answers on the fifth ring. “Hello?” 

��Mads,” Buck slurs.

“Buck? What happened to your phone? I’ve been trying to contact you all day!” 

“I - I - I was at the - the pier. I - Christopher, I can’t find Christopher,” he sobbed as he rounded one of the black tents. His eyes widened as he took in Eddie’s profile before he backed around the tent he’d rounded. “I can’t find Christopher and - and I have to find him. Eddie’s here Mads...I - how do you tell your - your best friend you lost their son?”

Buck was well past his breaking point. 

Maddie’s voice came through the phone, steady but also heartbroken. “You just have to tell him, Evan. He needs to know.” 

Tears slide freely down Buck’s face, “I can’t...I have to go back out there - I have to-”

“Buck?”

Buck’s eyes flicker to Eddie who’s now standing a few feet away from him. Buck can see Eddie look him over, “Eds.”

“Buck what...where’s Christopher?”

[outrebanx]

don’t feel

JJ Maybank x female reader

Masterlist

-- // part two // part three // part four

Summary: soulmate au with JJ where they can feel each other’s pain when in close proximity, but with both of them feeling a lot of pain, that connection seems to go almost unnoticed 

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: angsty, abuse, mentions of abuse and injuries, swearing (i think thats it?)

——- I am in no way romanticising abuse if you have any issues with my writing pls message me

A/N: I decided to make this into a mini series as this was already getting pretty wordy and so this is basically the intro?? (not much JJ in it yet) Hope you enjoy and there’s probably some grammar errors so ignore them pls

(gif by @siriusscratch​ )

The kook life wasn’t all luxury all the time - your family had never been one of the richest and you didn’t exactly have the best home life either. Your parents had basically hated each other for as long as you could remember, always in some sort of argument or another, screaming across the house and shouting at all hours of the day and night.

This was something you had learnt to deal with though, what you still weren’t used to was them being violent - it had started off as a vase or plate thrown across the room around a year ago, but this had soon become fists being thrown instead, not only at each other, but they had turned on you and your younger sister as well.

Normally your escape was going to school, just being away from that toxic atmosphere did you a world of good, and after school you would take Grace, your younger sister, out for ice cream or to the beach. Anything to stay out of the house for a little bit longer.

Unfortunately, the school year was now over and the summer holidays had begun and even if the summer season was your favourite, you had been hating every second of it so far.

You had managed to stay in your bedroom for most of today, but were now beginning to get hungry so you knew you’d soon have to venture downstairs and hope that your parents were in an alright mood.

Your sister heard you begin to move down the stairs, popping her head out of her room she said, “Hey Y/N,”

“Hi Grace, you good?”

“Yeah I’m fine, are you getting some food?”

“I’m going to try to yes, I’m assuming you want some of the spoils?” You raised your eyebrow at her in question.

“Yes please,” she looked towards the floor, “I’m sorry I don’t want to go down there tonight, they were arguing when I got in from Carley’s and-“

You cut her off, stepping toward her and putting a strand of hair behind her ears, “hey don’t be sorry, you know I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, I’ll get you some water as well, okay?”

“Thank you, and Y/N, I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

You stepped away, ready to go back downstairs, “I know but I’m the older one and I will always protect you bub.”

With that you took a deep breath in, and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Luckily it was empty, so you quickly grabbed some bread and began making some sandwiches for you and your sister. Sandwiches were about as complex as you got when it came to making food but it would do.

You were about to head upstairs when your dad walked in, “Why haven’t I seen you all day?”

“Uh I’ve been busy,” you picked up the plates and tried to move past him, only for him to block your path, “excuse me please.”

“Your mother and I want to see you around the house more, you’re either out or in your room, is spending time with us so bad?”

“I don’t spend time with you because I’m busy Dad, don’t get offended.” As soon as the words were out of your mouth you regretted them, your dad’s face morphed into one of anger.

Before you could even react he brought his fist into your stomach, causing you to double over in pain, dropping the plates you were holding in the process.

“Now look what you’ve done!” He shouted at you, waving his hands at the mess on the floor.

Not wanting to upset him anymore you quickly grab a dustpan and brush and bent down to begin clearing it up when he delivers a vicious kick into your chest, you fall to the floor completely, struggling to breath. He kicks you again, this time the strength in his leg slams you into the cabinets behind you, you wince in pain, too winded to even breath properly, you refused to let the tears behind your eyes fall, from past experience you knew that crying in front of your dad was a bad idea as he viewed it as ’weak’ and it only made him angrier.

He stepped away, giving you room to stand back up, you tried not to grab your front in pain, even if it felt like your insides had been ripped apart and you knew the bruises were already forming and by this time tomorrow your stomach would be a pattern of purple and green bruises.

“I’m sorry honey, I don’t know what came over me.” He tried to reach out to you, but you only flinched away, not looking at him.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll clean this up, you go and have a lie down and I’ll see you later.”

You just nodded, still not wanting to make eye contact with him, and shuffled past him, your body shaking more and more with each step, and once you’d reached the first step, the tears slowly began falling down your face.

Your sister was stood at the top of the stairs, a single tear mark on her cheek as she took in your state, she held out her hand for you, leading you towards your room where you sat on your bed, drained and in pain and not wanting to speak.

Your sister had come back into your room with some cream for your side, but you still didn’t move.

“Y/N,” she moved to grab your hand, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve gone down with you.”

This shook the vacant look out of your eyes, squeezing her hand you said, “Absolutely not, I meant what I said earlier and it is more painful seeing you in pain than what I’m experiencing now.”

You lifted your shirt, revealing the swollen marks that would soon become bruises. Grace’s breath hitched in her throat, “Oh God, this is worse than I thought it was, do you think anything is broken?”

“No, it’s just bruises and anyway he only kicked me a few times today and kind of apologised which is better than most of the time.”

Grace went to say something but you held up your hand to stop her, “I’m not excusing his behaviour don’t worry, I’m just saying it could have been worse.”

“But it shouldn’t have to happen at all!” She had finished applying the cream and began pacing, “I know it happens more to you because you protect me but it disgusts me and I hate how it effects you, you almost become a shell of who you whenever this happens. You’re the best person I know and our fucking parents are destroying you every day!”

“Not so loud Grace.” You try to calm her down, but it only seems to make her angrier, even though she was only thirteen, she had already grown up so much due to what you’d both endured, and it honestly broke your heart.

“I want us to leave this place Y/N.” She turned to you, angry tears now rolling down her face.

You held out your arms for her and she moved over to you, snuggling into your embrace, careful not to hurt you.

“I promise one day we will get out of here but right now we can’t and we’re just going to have to live with it for a little while.”

You could feel her nod against your chest, she moved out of the hug slightly so she could look at you, “Do you want me to stay in here tonight?”

“Maybe, I haven’t decided yet, but first,” you stood up, wincing slightly at the movement, “We still need food, so do you want to sneak out to The Wreck?”

“Only if you’re up for it.”

“Of course I am, any chance to eat those fries I’m taking to be honest.” You smiled at her and luckily she let out a huff of laughter, lightening the mood between you.

“Okay then, which escape are we doing? 1 or 2?” She asked, reaching for a jumper in your wardrobe. Throughout the years, you had both created different codes for around your parents or ways to get out of the house, and at this point it was almost perfected.

You hold you chin in contemplation, “I was thinking one.”

“Interesting,” she clapped her hands together and headed towards your door to go to her room, “Okay I’ll see you at the car in 5 minutes.”

You nodded at her, and turned to the mirror quickly wiping away the mascara stains around your eyes and pulled a jumper on before heading over to your window and pulling it open.

You and Grace both had ways to get out of your bedrooms from your windows - yours was a wooden trellis for the roses and plants to climb up the side of the house, which you had perfected moving up and down on; hers was a small terrace over the outdoor seating area that she could jump to and then jump to the floor on. You never went on each other’s way out as neither of you wanted to risk it not holding both weights and your parents catch you, as this would probably result in at least one of you being sent to the hospital.

You struggled a little today due to your new injuries but still managed and once you had finished climbing down, you wiped your hands on your jeans, and headed to your car on the drive where your sister was already leaning against the passenger door.

You sat behind the wheel, started the engine and slowly pulled out of the drive.

Neither you or your sister spoke for a few minutes, enjoying the fact that you were out of the house and on your way to one of your favourite places on the island. The Wreck was mainly a touron and pogue institution, but you had always enjoyed going there, especially because you and Kiara got along well enough that it wasn’t the normal Kook vs Pogue fight whenever you went.

Grace reached to turn down the radio before looking at you, “Y/N.”

You glanced at her and raised your eyebrows, “Grace.”

“Do you know your soulmate yet?”

You cleared your throat, this topic always made you uncomfortable as the idea there was someone who, if they were near enough to you, could feel the pain you were in, not only made you sad but also anxious because by the time they work out who you are, they could resent you for the pain you had caused them even though it wasn’t your fault.

“No, I’m yet to see someone near me double over in pain when Mum or Dad have used me as a punching bag that day, so I’m starting to think they might not be on this fucking island.” `You didn’t mean for it to come out as bitchy as that and probably should have apologised but it was how you felt.

Your sister had pity in her eyes but didn’t say anything, instead just hummed to the song coming through the car speakers.

You stayed like that, listening to the music and not uttering any other words until you pulled up to the small car park outside the Wreck.

“Right, let’s go and get some food.” You said, opening the door to your car and heading into the restaurant.

Kie smiled at you in greeting before leading you and Grace over to a table at the back, away from most people.

You hit your hip on the table next to yours by accident, causing pain to flare up over your body, making the injuries you already had somehow feel even worse.

Grace had heard your intake of breath, and as you both sat down she looked at you, “Are you okay?”

“Yes I’m fine don’t worry, just being my clumsy self.”

She nodded and looked down at the menu in front of her, you didn’t need to look, you ordered the exact same thing every time, so instead you looked at the people who were sat in the restaurant.

It was past the peak dinnertime service so only a few tourons were in here, and there was Kiara’s little pogue group sat on a table in the opposite corner, all talking in hushed whispers. As you looked at them your head began to pound, like you’d been hit with a baseball bat repeatedly, you couldn’t help but grimace slightly.

You must have hit your head earlier when your dad sent you flying into the cabinets, and this was just a delayed reaction. You kept reassuring yourself this, especially when the blond boy, who you knew was called JJ, turned around, making eye contact with you through his swollen and bruised eyes. He raised his eyebrows quizzically, holding his side slightly, as if in pain.

It was all just a coincidence you thought, you dad had hurt you more than you realised earlier, and you hadn’t taken any painkillers.

You looked down at your menu, trying to escape the gaze of the blond boy, who you could feel was still looking at you.

Yeah it was just a coincidence.

Part two 

Tags: @jiaraendgame ( @teamnick​ i said i’d tag you in my next series hope you dont mind)

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I promise I have not given up on this fic. Life is kinda of a mess right now. The College Entrance Exams Season has just begun, and I’ve been studying nonstop, which leaves me with little time to write and a brain overheated due to excessive studying.

Good news tho! So far, I have been accepted in the two colleges I’ve already applied for, which leaves me with just The Big Scary Exam in January which also has a second phase that is FIVE DAYS AFTER ACOSF IS RELEASED. And which is pretty much my dream college

But let’s talk about happy things. Get comfortable and enjoy the long overdue Part Four!

In which she makes a friend, Part Four

Cassian woke up in the late afternoon. After a silently breakfast with Nesta, he went to report to Devlon and go over the papers he had left piling up in his absence. Nesta had gone to her room — probably to take a bath and change out of the leathers — and he had not seen her since. He had promptly fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, his aching muscles and wings screaming for some well deserved rest.

Cassian debated whether to knock on Nesta’s door or not as he splashed some cold water on his face. He had decided he was going to help her, he just didn’t know how to do that without seeming as if he was just following orders from Feyre. Nesta was not a burden. Would never be. At least not for him. He was going to do this right and make up for the two months he was away.

Gathering his courage, he softly knocked on her door, straining his ears to listen to something that would indicate that she was in her bedroom. When he heard nothing, not even her breathing, he remembered the stone bench. The weather was sunny — with “sunny” in Illyria meaning that the grey sky was more or less free of clouds and the cold not as unforgiving as usual. However, when he opened the front door and stepped outside, he did not see Nesta but the young Illyrian he had seen earlier, Kaelin.

Cassian stayed quiet, taking the opportunity to inspect the kid, which was so busy writing something down in a piece of paper — Cassian could see him biting his lip in concentration and pushing back a stray curl that kept falling on his eyes — that didn’t take notice of his arrival. Kaelin was a question mark that had suddenly appeared in his life. Cassian didn’t know who the Illyrian was, but if Nesta had chosen to trust him — to take him under her care when she could not deign to care for herself — then he was going to trust her decision. And he would ask Kaelin to work with him to help Nesta heal.

“You know, if you’re thinking of growing your hair maybe you should have something to tie it back” Cassian said, clearing his throat to warn Kaelin of his presence.

Kaelin almost fell from the bench in surprise, quickly raising to greet him.

“Please, there’s no need for that” Cassian pleaded, interrupting Kaelin before he did the formal salute “You are living here now, you may address me informally”.

“Yes, sir” he hesitantly answered, as if unsure if he should be treating his superior like that.

The younglings usually liked Cassian. He did teach a lot of them to fly and played with them whenever he had the chance. But Kaelin was in the phase where training got harder, tougher. When the Camp Lords started to separate those who had potential and those who would only be another number in the army.

“Isn’t it better to write inside? The bench looks uncomfortable” Cassian tried, hoping to gain the kid’s trust.

“Nesta said...she said it’s good to read out loud while you write” the tip of Kaelin’s ears turned soft pink “I didn’t want to disturb you, sir”

Nesta was teaching Kaelin how to read.

Cassian didn’t know what to do with this new information. He had really missed a lot on two months.

“I wouldn’t be woken by your voice. I usually sleep like the dead”.

“When I can actually sleep” Cassian thought. His dreams usually turned into nightmares, and he only slept well when he was near the point of passing out from fatigue. Like today.

“Oh, I see. Nesta gave me one of the military books in your living room to practice, I hope that’s fine” the young Illyrian knotted his eyebrows in confusion “She said she didn’t have any books I could read”.

“No, I don’t think she has” Cassian allowed himself a small smile, thinking about the dirty romance novels he knew Nesta liked. He didn’t think they’d have been proper for Kaelin “Feel free to take any books you like. I’ll see if I can get hold of less boring ones for you”.

“I don’t want to burden you!!” he quickly said “Really, they’re not boring. A bit hard to understand, but I usually write down the words I don’t know and Nesta helps me later”.

“It’s not a bother. I was planning to get some books for Nesta. She reads a lot and I think she may have run out of books now”.

Cassian tried to calm Kaelin, making sure it was nothing out of his way. He knew how it felt when you had nothing and people offered you things. The first time he had received a present, a solstice gift from Rhysand’s mother, he had been afraid to accept and had cried afterwards, once he was alone. He could only imagine how it was for the Kaelin. An orphan who once had some and suddenly was stripped of even the little things he had to call his own.

“You and Nesta... you seem close” he tried to appear nonchalant, laying the ground for his intention of gathering Kaelin’s aid.

“She’s nice” he answered, pushing the stray curl away again.

“How has she been? Has she been going out a lot?” Cassian cringed internally at how desperate he sounded, but he could not deny how worried he was that Nesta was not back when it was beginning to darken.

“I’ve know Nesta for two, three months at most”.

“And?” Cassian inquired.

“She does not eat much. Started going out recently” Kaelin eyed him in suspicion “I don’t know if I should be talking with you, sir, about her. I know that I wouldn’t like to have someone talking about me behind my back. Specially with someone who had left me alone for months”.

Cassian realised that, in this conversation, he was the enemy. Kaelin knew Nesta, but had no reason whatsoever to trust Cassian, ranks in the army be damned.

“I was busy. Commander stuff” he didn’t want to talk about how a civil war was most likely to happen.

Kaelin’s only answer was to raise an eyebrow in question, an act that reminded Cassian so much of Nesta that he was momentarily thrown back. Was his idea about to go down the drain before he had even tried it out?

“I wouldn’t have left if wasn’t really necessary”.

“I didn’t doubt you” Kaelin said, the corners of his mouth raising slightly.

Cauldron, he couldn’t believe how he was being played by a teenage boy.

“And I guess I know what you’re trying to do” Kaelin commented, gathering the book, tucking the piece of paper inside it and pocketing the pencil.

“If you know it, then are you willing to be my helping hand?” Cassian remembered why he usually stuck with training the younglings. They didn’t have smart comebacks.

“I cannot possibly train Nesta. I only know the basics I’ve learnt as a kid. But you sir, are a legend” Kaelin’s eyes sparked in admiration.

Mikael had told Kaelin stories about the Commander of the Illyrian armies. Of how an orphan who was supposed to be a foot soldier had the biggest killing power in Illyria’s history.

“I’m willing to do anything to make Nesta happy” Kaelin’s expression saddened “She is not doing well. And I own her my life. It’s the minimum I can do”.

“Thank you. I think she’d listen more to you than me” Cassian stretched his wings “First things first then kiddo. Could you tell me where she is? It’s getting late and she should have someone accompany her back”.

Kaelin gave him a wide smile, and before Cassian could do anything, got airborne.

“Don’t worry about it!! I always walk Nesta back!!”

And with a last goodbye shout, Kaelin flew away to meet Nesta at Cauldron knows where, leaving Cassian no option but to enter the house and get dinner ready.

~•~

To say dinner had been awkward was an understatement.

Cassian didn’t remember ever being so tongue tied before. Nesta had also kept quiet for most of the meal. Kaelin, however, did enough talking for both of them.

The kid had completely lost all shyness regarding Cassian, although he still added ‘sir’ sometimes when it seemed he was going overboard. Keeping his word to help Cassian with Nesta, Kaelin had talked nonstop about the things that had happened in those two months. Cassian learned that Nesta cooked quite well — “Illyrian culinary is different from high Fae but she learned so fast! It didn’t even feel like the food had been kept in the ice box for so long!” — and that she also knew how to sew — “She fixed all my clothes! They fit perfectly now! It feels as if they’re brand new!”.

Cassian would be pleased to just sit there and listen to Kaelin praise Nesta and tell all her hidden abilities, but he saw the way her pointed ears were getting pink and how she stuffed food in her mouth to avoid getting asked more questions. So he changed topics to Kaelin’s training, and he swore he saw Nesta silently thank him by the way her grey blue eyes softened.

The rest of the dinner run smoothly. He was also relived to see Nesta getting a second helping of food. Cassian could bet that she had not had lunch and, as a result, was starving.

He had made rice with cooked vegetables, along with fish seasoned with baniwa, a pepper based sauce. He had also left some fish without baniwa, not knowing whether Nesta liked her food spicy or not. He was happy to see that she choose the fish with the sauce and decided to stick with solid food, not taking any of the Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri he had offered, in case her stomach was not well.

After quietly washing the dishes while Nesta dried them — she had just gotten up and grabbed the kitchen rag, not sparing him a glance as she took the clean plate from his hand — Cassian locked himself in his room, hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

However, lucky was not on his side. He tossed and turned on his bed for hours, until finally giving up sleep and moving to his desk to go over the training schedule and other minor documents. Maybe work would tire him out enough to get maybe three or four hours of sleep.

Cassian was in the middle of a report regarding the preparations for the Blood Rite when he felt a shiver running down his spine. A faint sensation of panic came forth, and he was momentarily thrown back. Shrugging it off as fatigue, he turned back to the paper. But the sensation did not disappear. Had someone gotten over the wards somehow?

“Oh, screw this” he cursed, raising from his chair and opening his bedroom door.

Looking in the living room’s direction, he saw Kaelin completely passed out in the couch, sleeping on his stomach, his wings twitching in his sleep and drooling. The kitchen was clear as well, the same with the outdoor patio and the bathroom. The sensation got fainter, and he almost gave up when he walked by Nesta’s bedroom.

Cassian felt that panic rise within him once again. Felt that sensation of dread and helplessness knock him with full force. Without thinking, he opened her door, all reason flying out of his head to knock or call her from outside. Once inside, the first thing he notice was how cold the room was. She had not lit the fireplace, but it for sure was not due to lack of firewood. Why had she chosen to bury herself under multiple fur blankets then?

Second thing he took notice of was that said blankets had been thrown to the floor. And that Nesta was painting, fists tightly closed beside her body.

“Nesta...” Cassian breathed, slowly approaching the bed. He could see her eyes moving frantically under eyelids. The sensation was stronger now, threatening to consume him. He could not imagine how Nesta felt. Tried not to think why he also felt it.

“No...get away...” she murmured feverishly in her sleep “Take me. Take me instead”

Cassian smelled smoke, and he realised that Nesta’s fists were burning the sheets were they touched, her skin damp with sweat.

“Ness....” Cassian knew that you should not wake up someone when they were having a nightmare, not when they were letting their power lose. That indicated that the person had lost all sensation of reality and imagination, and could hurt whoever approached them. But Cassian could not see her suffering and just do nothing.

Gently, he kneeled beside her bed, and tentatively run his thumb across her forehead.

“You’re safe Nesta. Breath.” he murmured, bringing his other hand to her clenched fists, squeezing in reassurance, the fire around them not hurting him.

“It’s my fault...my fault” she whimpered, and sorrow and guilty hit Cassian just like earlier.

“Shhh.... Nobody can harm you” his thumb kept caressing her, trying to transmit comfort through his touch.

“I’m sorry...” she took a sharp breath, and Cassian could feel she tremble slightly.

“Nesta. Nesta.” he willed her hand to open, clutching it on his “Hush now xe r-endy, I’m here. Îebyr pe ixê.”

He kept talking in Illyrian, and she started to calm down, her breath coming in regularly and some tension leaving her body.

“That’s it sweetheart. You’re safe” Cassian tucked the blankets over Nesta, getting her comfortable.

“Cassian...stay” she grabbed his hand, eyes half open and laced with sleep, her strange and mysterious power faintly shinning on them.

“I will stay until you fall asleep” he replied.

And Cassian spent the rest of the night and early morning sitting on her bedroom floor. Holding her hand. And when the first of rays of sunlight appeared, he let go of her hand.

And he left Nesta’s room.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list.}

[fishmongeringstudies]

six: wandering the city while waiting for a train that'll never come, you stop to wave at a dog on the street only to realize you have mistaken a crumpled bag of mcdonald's for a chihuahua

i almost slipped and died in the shower today. luckily i didn't, because i read somewhere that slipping and dying in the shower makes it a little hard for you to finish writing a manuscript for a novel fictionalizing the events of your freshman spring semester that's definitely going to become a new york times bestseller in about four years' time, but i came pretty close. for a moment i had my hand on the wall and my legs splayed like a barbie doll stuck to a stripper pole and the matchbox world behind the shower curtain was slipping steadily south and heading lower still. and then i caught myself.

several minutes later i heard scuffling beyond the pale, soapy shower curtain and thought there might be someone creeping on me. if someone was creeping on me i had an idea of who it might be, which made the prospect all the more likely and infinitely more convincing inside the grapefruit-sized thing i called my brain. then i heard the clap of god's hands in an ashen sky, and i knew. this was no man made disaster-in-waiting. it had begun to rain.

it didn't rain for long. five minutes at best, two if my grasp on the spatial-temporal continuum is worse than i'd imagined (this is very likely; the stars pass me by faster than i can count them these days), but long enough that anyone who happened to be outside when that first teardrop fell from the sky got a little wet. a little fucked up, if you will, which, hey. good for him. he deserves to get a little fucked up.

but i get carried away. please excuse my personal grievances. this is not a lament, it is a swimming pool. full of tiny colorful fish which flit around at its bottom, chasing strands of sunlight like children on a playground.

the weather forecast says it'll rain again tomorrow, and maybe the day after, too, if the world stays sad enough to let it happen. it makes me nostalgic. when i left in february monsoon season was in full swing, tearing trees from their roots with big meaty hands and making every fleeting boring moment into the kind of gray sunday afternoon on which i imagine the directors of romantic dramas like to shoot break-ups. rain in singapore looks different. it's not a bucket full of water, it's a room. a blue room against a silver sky. your socks stuck to your ankles with the kind of grim determination that makes you almost a little sad to peel them off, to toss them in the washing machine behind the kitchen. there's a little balcony behind the kitchen in the house you left in february, with a washing machine and a ledge for sitting on and a dryer that doesn't work. you used to go there when you wanted to check on the restaurant across the street. from here you can make out the round, blue-rimmed tables that attract students, biking enthusiasts, three am brawls between red-faced european men and their red-faced european friends. if there's noise on this side of the street, it's probably coming from there.

summer. summer reminds me of home. so far i've been telling people that the association is a bad one, and it certainly isn't a lie, but it's not a whole truth either, if one believes in the matter of whole truths to begin with. i'm starting to think maybe there are only skim-milk truths, clotted cream truths, 0% fat yogurt truths. truths that change shape when you aren't looking. we aren't looking most of the time, after all. we're very busy people. all of us. we're trying to change the world.

and for what? who are we trying to save? do you want to live forever? that's the goal, isn't it. i mean it's definitely mine. i won't blame you if the concept of death sits on your shoulder like a fourth generation ipod touch with a broken home button, whispering really fucked up shit into your ear when you're alone. i mean it definitely does for me.

puzzle-girl is in new york now, last i checked. good for her. i hear new york is full of lights and electricity and car exhaust. maybe one day she will learn that friendship isn't an emergency help-line. probably not. my friend thinks she will, thinks we'll come back around in our junior year and everyone will see us stuck to each other again like two grotesque modern art pieces drilled back-to-back into a museum exhibit wall only with a firm mutual understanding of what boundaries are, but i have my doubts.

once someone told me with the kind of half-fake half-genuine smile that makes you wonder if AI technology has advanced far enough to mimic the complexities of stupid hormonal teenagers with really bad interpersonal issues after all that i was blooming. coincidentally all the flowers on campus had suddenly decided to poke their heads out of the dirt like babies busting their way out of refrigerators, guns blazing, hearts shot to pieces, so it's not like he was completely bullshitting me. he was only ninety-eight percent bullshitting me. the two percent is why he comes up in my writing as often as he does, all this time later. like i think he was ninety-eight percent clown but two percent circus, two percent red-nosed reindeer trying to unionize behind a striped curtain, two percent something real. or at least i like to think that way. i'm a writer. we have to pretend there's something to write about. or else what will we write about?

so yeah. one time someone told me i was blooming. at the time i was embarrassed. and then after the story put an abrupt end to itself i was madly obsessed with the idea of flowers jutting out of cracks in the earth, gold pouring forth from blood-wounds, poinsettia eyes, whatever, whatever, and then the flowers started wilting. standing on the path outside my dorm i was like what the fuck? why the hell is everything dying? it's been like three days, god, what are you guys made of, tissue paper?

i was talking to the flowers. which died in spite of my indignation, so that's one for nature, zero for me. good for them. see you next spring, when things will, hopefully, be different. i don't have a plan as much as i have a dream i'd like to see walk into reality on three legs and a pitchfork. but it's a good dream. i promise.

the sky's clear as glass now. it's so bright i could probably stick my hand up there and stir vigorously and then an angel would emerge from the ether, rubbing her eye sleepily with the back of her hand. that's the kind of clarity i'm talking about. making metaphors about christianity-clarity. i am lonely and my dreams are full of beautiful people-clarity.

that's a lie-clarity. loneliness is, as mentioned in a previous installment of the meandering car accident i call this blog, a choice, and i'm too lazy and full of my own slew of interpersonal issues to commit to something like that. but summer is new, and it's like i'm getting used to the body in my basement all over again. how do i step around it, how do i make sure i don't look at its face? and its eyes, oh, those eyes. how terrible. how full of absence.

there will be exactly two hundred students on campus when summer move-ins are finished next week. this school has a population of nearly sixteen hundred. what are we doing?

research. academia. learning a new language. road trips. plane trips. horse riding lessons. research. academia. learning a new language. relationships. spaceships. building a ladder to the moon.

it feels like the sun never sets sometimes. the hours slide into one another like tectonic plates beneath the surface of the world and yet the sky remains just as it looked this afternoon, milk-white and pale as death. a hot summer wind blows and sends the clouds careening sideways into each other, and yet from this distance nothing changes. drop a body in a bathtub and nothing changes. beat someone up and nothing changes. survive thirteen weeks of bad mistakes and then worse ones, midnight mistakes, thursday evening mistakes, the kind of mistake you don't think you'll ever be able to write about, and still nothing changes.

they say there's always a silver lining but what if i want fur instead? let's say i want a fur-lined sky with fur-lined clouds and a little heart-shaped toy that makes a sound when you step on it. let's say i want to be fifteen again. the sky doesn't care. it still looks like a damn sky. the sky doesn't do things out of sentimentality.

it's just kind of there. today i'm just kind of here. today we're all alive. good for you. good for me. good thing my hand was on the wall when i slipped in the shower, so i could get out and dry my hair and then sit down in this shitty weird-smelling lounge with my laptop with the cracked touchpad and my cool elmo slippers, and tell you about this solitary life on mars.

05.26.2021

[captain-emmajones]

everything is icy and blue (you would be here too)

Dearest @klynn-stormz​, Merry Christmas! It has been so lovely to get to know you during this past month. I hope you’ll enjoy this gift I wrote for you, and here’s to hoping we’ll get to know each other more during this new year! 

A big thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this event, to @therealstartraveller776 for being the loveliest beta and to @carpedzem for screaming at me -- always. 

Summary: Canon divergence in which season 3B happens during Christmas time. Set after 3x16 and before 3x17 (let’s pretend more time passed between Neal’s death and Hook’s curse).  

When Hook has to adjust to Storybrooke’s Christmas traditions and learns about mistletoe, he starts carrying it around with him, all the time -- just in case Emma decides to join in the fun that was promised and kiss him. Except it doesn’t exactly go according to his plans.

 6OOO words - Fluff - Angst - Ao3

The sun is long gone when Hook and Henry finally sail back home. The stars and the moon have invaded the night sky, twinkling peacefully above their heads. 

Hook exhales a sigh of contentment, twirls of white smoke dancing out of his lips. 

“Quite chilly, isn’t it, lad?” 

Henry stands before him, spyglass firmly pressed against his right eye. It seems to take him a few seconds to register that Hook has been talking to him. 

“What?...No! I’m not even cold!” 

A quiet laughter jolts out of Hook’s mouth. Of course he isn’t cold. The lad has been looking mesmerized ever since they left port. It is a miracle he still knows his name. 

A mechanical swing of the wheel, cold fingers against cold metal -- and not warm wood, not like the Jolly -- and the small boat Hook has ‘burrowed’ slides gracefully into port. 

“Almost there, lad.” 

If Henry hears him speak, nothing in his demeanor gives it away. Hook’s heart smiles as something warm swells inside his chest. 

The sailor has to admit that Storybrooke’s docks in this late winter afternoon have proven to be a sight for sore eyes. They seem forever entrapped in shimmering clouds of misty darkness, the pavement glistening under unusually bright street lights. 

Hook frowns. 

“Tell me something lad, why are those street lights this colorful?” 

His question causes Henry to finally give up on the spyglass. He clicks it shut, and abandons the front of the boat to reach him. 

“Christmas lights. Why do you ask?” 

Although Hook has very little idea what this Christmas thing is, he gathers from Henry’s matter-of-fact tone that it is on the list of things he shouldn’t be talking about with the boy if he doesn’t want Emma to kill him. 

“Oh, just like that, lad. My vision must not be what it used to, because I couldn’t make them out properly.” 

. 

Emma’s cheeks are flushed and her nose stained with red when Hook and Henry finally reach her. Her slim body appears tense under the quivering lights of the docks, and there is not an inch of her skin showing. 

“Everything alright?” she asks, voice hoarse from the cold. 

Her head is buried beneath what she calls “a beanie”. It is also red, and it is positively the most wonderful vision Hook’s had the pleasure of gazing at in weeks. 

“I think so, Swan. The lad is quite fond of the sea. Isn’t that right, Henry?” 

Henry is polite enough to look up from the video game he was already engrossed in to nod vigorously. 

“Yeah, it was so much fun. Thank you for taking me, Killian.” Henry dedicates a smile to Hook, to which the pirate answers back: “T’was my pleasure, lad.” 

The boy then shifts his attention to his mother. “Can I go wait in the car?” he asks. 

Hook watches as Emma pretends to think, for one minute -- eyes rolling and underlip tucked between her teeth -- before she drops the car keys into his hand. 

“Thanks, Mom. Bye, Killian!” Four words and the boy disappears as a gust of cold wind curls around the two warm bodies still outside. 

Emma scoffs a little as her eyes linger on her son settling himself comfortably in the yellow bug parked a few feet away and raises her eyes to gaze at Hook. 

The immediate effect it has on his heart rate is truly ridiculous, and Hook cannot hold back his smile. 

“Thank you for taking him,” she mutters quickly, scrunching her nose -- and her words seem to burn her lips.

Hook sees himself lean into her space, smirking. 

“Why, you’re most welcome, Swan.” 

He watches as her eyes widen and scrutinize him before a slow, timid smile curls up her lips. 

Behind her back, the waves crash tenderly against the harbour, claiming it as home. 

It’s always a sight for sore eyes, Emma Swan smiling at him, and Hook counts his blessings. 

“Oh, by the way, tell me something, Swan,” and as he speaks he leans into her space even more, bending forward as if Henry might hear them. 

Emma’s eyes grow wider, but she does not back away. 

It isn’t necessary, of course, and it isn’t like Henry is paying any attention to two of them anyway but neither Hook nor Emma seem willing to take that into account. 

“Yeah?” 

Her breathy tone and bright eyes cause Hook’s heart to leap inside his chest. As he squeezes his belt between his fingers to gain some composure, Hook gathers enough courage to incline his body towards hers even more, lips dangerously close to Emma’s face. 

“The lad mentioned a Christmas celebration, and I’m afraid I haven’t been updated on this subject.” 

Hook catches a whiff of Emma’s fragrance as he backs away to gaze into her eyes, cinnamon and vanilla invading his lungs, and he has the pleasure of seeing her face crease into a wider smile. 

“Christmas, uh? Don’t worry, I’ll make you flashcards.” 

“I don't know what that is but sure.” 

By the time he finishes his sentence, Emma’s grin is dazzling and Hook begins considering freezing this moment forever in time and possibly angling his face just right so that he might meet her lips, perhaps, just perhaps -- 

“It’s a holiday from our world. It’s supposed to be religious, but for most people it’s mostly an occasion to exchange gifts and kiss under the mistletoe--”

“-- kiss under the what?” 

And Hook sees the bubble burst, just like that. A veil falls over her gaze and her smile dies away in a frown.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Even as she talks, her legs take a step backward, and Hook can only watch as this invisible tether between them seems to stretch and stretch. 

He wonders if she feels it too, this suffocating feeling as she pulls away. The answer is cruel: surely not, or she wouldn’t be pulling that way. 

“I see. Well, goodnight, Swan.” 

Although she’s just begun walking away, Hook knows Emma is long gone when she whispers back: “‘Night, Hook.”

.

Since Emma doesn’t seem willing to share anything with him these days, Hook settles his mind on learning more about this world’s tradition on his own -- which ends up being quite easy, as he fumbles through Storybrooke’s library. 

The Wicked Witch hasn’t shown up in two weeks now — since Neal died — which allows Hook to take some liberties with his time schedule. 

“Do you need any help?” 

Hook startles and turns around to face two, big blue eyes. 

“Belle,” he says, but it sounds a lot like a reproach. Belle’s clearly understood it because she is frowning now. 

“I saw you all alone with your books in the Christmas section and I figured you might need help to understand this world’s traditions,” she explains but any warmth has definitely escaped her tone. 

Guilt immediately circles Hook’s throat, and he is gentler when he says: “No, I’m fine lass but... thank you for offering.” 

Belle simply nods as a faint smile flickers across her face. And Hook thinks guilt is quite a vile thing because it pushes him to give up on the book in his hand Christmas Traditions to Brighten your Holidays-- silly, silly title -- and press his palm across the brunette’s shoulder. 

“Actually, you might be able to enlighten me on something…” 

A wink, and the right corner of Belle’s lip raises slightly.

“Sure, what do you want to know?” 

“Swan mentioned a kissing tradition that involved toes of some sort?” 

She’s frowning now, and it cannot possibly be good. 

“What?” Her hands meet her hips as she furrows her brows harder. “Oh you mean mistletoe!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.” 

Hook watches as Belle’s grin becomes impish. “I’m not sure Emma would like me telling you this,” she begins, coy. 

“Which is exactly why I want you to tell me.” 

Belle shrugs, glances down for a bit. “Well, I guess there’s no harm…” 

.

“So you mean to tell me if this plant hangs over two people, they have to kiss?” 

Hook’s startled blue eyes are quite a comic sight, Belle must confess. Surprised glimmers glisten amidst tender blue; he looks younger. 

“Yes, that's what I mean.” 

But Belle knows Hook’s cheerful smile is merely a facade. A few minutes ago, he seemed so...lonely, when she entered the library, nose buried in his book, and Belle figures it isn’t quite fair that he ends up having to learn it all -- on his own.

No one deserves to be left alone. Especially not during the holidays. 

“And what does it look like?” 

Belle gives a little chuckle. “Why? You want to use it?” 

Hook’s answer comes out as a matter of fact. “Aye.” 

And he looks so boyish, with this Christmas book in his hand and this hope hovering his eyes that Belle cannot help but smile frankly. 

“I’m not sure Emma will fall for that.” 

“Never try never know, lass.” 

Belle sighs, scanning the shelves of books. Her eyes settle on one that she flips through rapidly. 

“There,” she points with her finger, “this plant with the green leaves and red berries? It’s mistletoe.” 

Hook peers above her shoulder. “Thank you, lady Belle.”

In a wink, the pirate has disappeared out of the library and Belle scoffs— amused, in spite of herself. He won’t be stopped, will he?  

.

Hook and Henry are playing dice at Granny’s when he figures he might as well just ask the boy for more information. 

“I’ve got a question, mate,” he begins, uncertain as to how to address the subject without sounding suspicious to those teenage ears. 

Thankfully, Henry’s little concerned about Hook as he shoves French fries into his mouth. 

“Yeah?” 

Hook tries not to look horrified as one French fry tries to escape and Henry tucks it in expertly with one greasy finger. 

“Where do you think I could find mistletoe in this town?” 

That does make Henry stop for one tiny second, eyes open wide and eyebrows raised. 

“Mistletoe? Why?” 

Hook clears his throat, looks down at his fingers stretched on the table and lies: “Mary Margaret sent me.” 

From the look on Henry’s face, he isn’t convinced. Smart boy. 

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve been living in this town very long. You should ask my mom about it.” 

Hook frowns. “Nah, let’s not bother her with this when she’s already busy with her...how does she say it…?” 

Henry’s eyebrows reach unprecedented height. “...Case?” 

“Aye. That.” Why would Swan bother with cases, that Hook doesn’t bloody know -- but it’s part of the things he doesn’t question. 

.

If there’s one thing Hook’s learnt over the years, it is that if one wants something badly enough, it always ends up in one’s lap. However, the tricky thing is it rarely lands softly or in an expected way. 

As Emma and he investigate the west side of the forest looking for the Wicked Witch, he quite literally stumbles onto mistletoe. 

As things turn out, it is quite a painful venture and it involves gazing for a bit too long at Emma who is a little far behind and not long enough at the vicious root right under his feet -- not that Hook truly thinks he is to blame -- and plummeting to the floor, head first, leading up to Emma falling on top of him in a colorful “HOOK”.  

Hook groans at the impact but he isn’t about to complain -- Emma falling on top of him might be the only way she’ll fall for him these days. 

Emma, on the other hand, isn’t so pleased. 

“What the hell? Can’t you look where you’re going?” she hisses as fiery green eyes pierce through his soul from under golden strands of hair. 

“I didn’t bloody mean to do that!”

Hook wishes he didn’t sound like a ten-year-old boy, but that’s what it’s come to these days with Emma. 

Emma grunts some more before rolling onto her side and kneeling to spring to her feet. 

“You’re impossible”, she mumbles, and it sounds a lot like she might just kill him as she taps snow off her knees. “Tripping in the snow as if the Wicked Witch couldn’t kill us both on sight…” 

Hook keeps his lips resolutely closed. When Swan starts rambling about him, he knows better than to interfere and possibly worsen the situation. 

She’s still dusting snow off her jeans when suddenly, she stops. And stares at him. 

Hook’s toes curl in his boots. “What?” 

Emma scowls and he thinks she’s hesitating. “You’ve got...” she starts and then seems to catch herself up and stops. 

Hook is about to ask what he’s got, but then Emma’s walking towards him, her hand raised up, and before he knows it her fingers have landed into his hair.

“Don’t move…” she whispers. Hook stands very still, feeling a blush creep up his skin, eyes lowering slowly not to stare. 

From his height, he is able to see the slight freckles dusted over her small nose, and her pink lips and, -- perhaps he ought to look at the ground. 

Emma’s face remains blank as she rummages through his hair, gentle fingers sieving through it, but a hint of red does stain her cheeks. When she retreats, the glimmer of a smile lingers on her lips. 

“You had mistletoe in your hair,” she finally explains, with that quiet, abashed tone that’s only too rare. 

Hook swallows down, heart drumming. “Thank you for the assistance, Swan.” 

But then she’s quick to avert her gaze and Hook knows the spell has been broken as the small sprig of mistletoe lands onto the snow-coated ground in a faint whisper, 

“Come on, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.” 

Hook lets her stride forward, making sure she isn’t looking at him before stooping down and picking up the small plant to slide it into his coat. He promises himself to come back for more. We’re not about to waist treasures, now, are we...

. 

Hook is a subtle man, but he is aware that he cannot rightly expect Granny to be okay with him sticking mistletoe onto the window above Emma’s booth without asking first. 

So he does.  

“Why isn’t there mistletoe here? Isn’t it a Christmas tradition?” He begins, the picture of innocence, as he twirls a spoon into his cup of tea. 

Granny sees right through him. “Very cute of you to be concerned about our traditions, Hook,” she mumbles, piling up plates onto a drying rack.  

He nods, smiles even. “Fortunate are we that I’ve already stocked up on it.” 

Granny’s eyes pierce through his soul. “How fortunate indeed.” 

She lets him, of course. Not that Hook had any doubt. 

.

When Emma strolls down the B&B’s stairs to go claim her daily hot cocoa and bear claw, Henry still caught up in a teenage coma, she does think Hook looks especially weird -- staring at her with a glint in his eyes that she can only coin as mischief. 

“What are you up to?” she mumbles on sliding into her booth. 

Hook says nothing but leaves his spot next to Granny at the bar to come and sit down in front of her. Emma doesn’t have it in herself to complain -- it’s too early for that and it’s not like it would make him go away anyway. 

“Nothing, Swan. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing towards the window pane. 

Emma tilts her face to gaze through the window. She distinguishes a sky heavy with grey clouds of snow and looks back at him with a puzzled frown in her eyes. He is being suspicious. She squints. 

“Is that grey sky the reason you’re so cheery?” she asks, and then dives into the hot cocoa Granny just dropped in front of her. 

At least, hot cocoa is still sweet and perfect and doesn’t disappoint her. 

“Can you blame me for being happy to see you?” 

Emma nearly chokes on her beverage but she catches herself soon enough. Instead, she furrows her brows and proceeds to ignore as well as she can the stubborn leap of her heart. 

“You’re never that happy to see me,” she retorts, smothering a smile, and then drinks up another mouthful of hot cocoa. 

Why is she encouraging him? 

“Allow me to disagree, Swan. Plus, look up: there is a wonderful opportunity to make me happier.” 

“Why would I want to make you hap-?” she begins, but then she discovers what he’s pointed at with his hook and the end of her sentence vanishes from her mind. 

It takes a lot of willpower not to burst into laughter or stab him in the face with her little spoon -- which one she hasn’t made up her mind on just yet -- and instead plaster the blankest expression she can conjure on her face....

...which is in that case a silly, silly smile. 

“You’re really desperate if you think mistletoe is what it’s going to take for me to kiss you,” she retorts, and she really hopes the heat she feels blooming on her face isn’t showing up. 

From the look on Hook’s face, however, it is definitely showing. Emma wants to rip that stupid, smug smirk off his face. 

“Can you blame me for trying?” 

This time she cannot hold back the chuckle that’s bubbling inside her throat as she shakes her head. Idiot. Her cheeks hurt. 

“No, of course not, if you don’t expect to succeed.” 

And he smiles that smile, that “that’s when the fun begins” smile and stands up. 

“We’ll see to that, Swan.” 

And when Granny asks her “So, mistletoe, uh?” Emma figures the grin spreading across her face isn’t her best poker face and she pretends to be exceptionally thirsty for hot cocoa -- mostly to distract Granny’s from the flush on her cheeks. 

.

Hook is meticulous in his endeavours, and has the sense of details, Emma will give him that. 

She slowly finds out that the whole town suddenly is brimming with mistletoe. Mistletoe in the B&B’s corridor, mistletoe in the laundromat room, mistletoe in the library, mistletoe everywhere. 

Mistletoe even in the leather satchel Hook carries around everywhere with him. “You never know when the occasion might be right, Swan. You have to be prepared.” 

Although she hates him for it, she does not hate him nearly as much as she hates herself for not hating it completely. 

After all, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

For instance, when Mary Margaret and David notice it above their head at Granny’s, they smile and meet halfway in a kiss. The other day, Granny’s lips also found Ruby’s forehead and left a sonorous smack there -- a rare display of affection between the two women -- and Ruby then proceeded to stain Emma’s left cheek with a lovely burgundy color. 

No one knows Hook is the one hanging them there -- except for Granny -- and Emma wishes she would find it more ridiculous. (Even a little bit, that’ll do to make her feel better about herself.) 

. 

They are only a few days from Christmas Eve when, after another endless afternoon spent patrolling, Mary Margaret starts musing over the Christmas spirit in the sheriff station. 

“I just love Christmas and I am so glad we are spending it together, this year -- Wicked Witch or not.” 

Mary Margaret’s right hand brushes over her round belly while the other rests above David’s shoulder. 

Emma sits in a corner; exhaustion is weighing down her limbs, coloring her world blue. The snow seems to have sunk into her skin, crystalizing over her muscles. 

She can hardly share their enthusiasm. With the Wicked Witch on the run, she’s had little time to think about the holidays -- if not for mistletoe because of a certain someone -- and what it means to spend Christmas with her parents and her son. Henry still hasn’t recovered his memories and all she can think about is avenging Neal’s death and the life she gave up on, back in New York.

“Should we invite Regina?” Emma asks in a breath. This all starting to sound a lot like a complicated masquerade. 

She stares at the bright, yellow neon lights above her head. She’s stared at them so many, lonely times, but now their sight is almost comforting... and then, slowly, slowly, flutters her eyes shut… 

It would all be so simple, if they went back to New York. No more villains, no more happy endings to bring, no more sacrifices to make -- just Emma, a mother, and her son in a normal, quiet life. It was enough. She would be enough.

Silence. Emma cannot see her parents’ faces but she thinks she guesses quite well their expression anyway. 

And then her mother’s voice, a bit blurry, as if erupting from another reality: “I mean, yes, we probably should or she’ll be alone for Christmas Eve. We’ll just have to tell Henry this family is really close to the mayor.” 

“I still don’t know why you guys celebrate Christmas. It’s not even from your world,” Emma mumbles and yawns. 

She is tired, so very tired. And celebrating Christmas always did feel like staring at an open wound that will not heal. 

“Then we should also invite Belle…”

Emma hears her mother sigh. “In that case, maybe we should just all gather at Granny’s.” 

Emma opens her eyes. The bright neon lights above her head are no longer soothing; they glare and burn. There will be no happy ending for the Savior. 

“That makes sense,” she whispers and stands up before she can sink into another lethargy 

Emma rubs her eyes and stretches her sore muscles. 

“I gotta pick up Henry. Hook and he went sailing this afternoon,” she says as she slips one arm back into her jacket and another yawn quivers out of her.  

“You should tell Hook, Emma,” adds her mother while Emma sieves impatient fingers through her hair. 

Emma stops in her steps, arches one eyebrow. There is still so much exhaustion clinging to her bones and clouding her mind. “Why should I be the one telling him?” 

Emma’s mother isn’t impressed by her petulant tone. “Because you’ll see him tonight, Emma.” 

Emma winces. “Right.”

Christmas always sucked for Emma. She doesn’t know why this year should be any different.

. 

Emma nearly hates Hook on sight when she sees him reach the B&B alongside Henry, his arm swang around his shoulder and this stupid gust of wind playing with his thick, black hair. She rubs her hands together to warm them up. At least the cold breeze is enough to sharpen her senses and wake her up. 

It does warm her heart, to see Henry and he get along just fine, not that she’d admit it under torture or something. 

Henry greets her with a hug and Hook with a tilt of his face and an intolerable smile. As they enter the B&B together in silence, warmth curls around their bodies, hugging them tightly, and Emma unzips her jacket on the way up the stairs. 

“Go take a shower, Henry. I’ll be here in a sec,” she tells her son, palms on his shoulders to guide him inside their room. 

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Hook peer at her but she ignores him. “‘kay, Mom.” 

The door bangs close behind her back and Emma shifts to face Hook staring at her with his insufferable blue eyes and a quiet smile and that silly, silly mistletoe hanging between them -- teasing her, it seems. 

Smells of food and the faint rustle of conversations surround them as they stand in the corridor -- as if isolated in a liminal space. 

Emma blinks, breathes in, inhaling some courage, and exhales: “We’re going to celebrate Christmas all together at Granny’s.”

She can tell he isn’t following because he looks taken aback for a moment and she hates seeing him like this -- when the mask cracks and light spills in and illuminates this earnest look on his face. It’s really hard then to convince herself that she does not care -- not at all, not one bit. 

“Are you inviting me, Swan?” he asks, and Emma knows he means to sound impish but something else is rearing its head behind the sly smile and Emma feels a weird pang, down in her stomach. 

“I’m not inviting you,” she retorts but she doesn’t have it in herself to keep her armor on tonight and she feels herself smile a sluggish smile. “Everyone is invited.” 

He’s tilting his head then, in that manner that has a terrible effect on Emma’s heartbeat, and slowly bends down towards her -- his fragrance filling her lungs. 

Emma thinks then that her eyelids are definitely far too heavy, that she should sleep, and she watches herself lean into him. 

“So,” she begins again, voice hoarse and it isn’t quite because of the cold, “are you coming or not?” 

But then, somehow, something seems to shatter between them and Hook takes a step back. Emma’s stomach gives another lurch and she has to fight the instinctive spring of her hand towards his arm. 

“I’m sorry, Swan, but I don’t think I’ll be able to attend.” 

“Why?” The word comes out of her mouth before she can think about it. 

From the colored windows, Emma can make out the sun setting behind Hook’s back -- purple and pink clouds softly floating away -- and that sadness everywhere -- on his face, in her open palms with nothing to hold, in that distance between them. 

Emma clenches her jaw as she watches him, as she watches him pulling away from her. 

“I don’t think it is my place to be,” he simply answers.

Emma’s stomach twists. 

This same urge to touch him burns her fingertips, owls that she should take a step forward. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand why he won’t, why she feels that -- 

Instead she remains very firm on her legs and smiles a faint smile and says: “I understand. Just know that if you want to drop by, you’re welcome to.” 

A grin flickers across his face, but the glimmer dies before it reaches its eyes. “I appreciate that, Swan.” 

And then she says: “Goodnight, Hook.” 

And feels something bitter tug, tug, inside of her when he bows his head and disappears without a word. 

. 

As Emma expected, this Christmas Eve dinner in Storybrooke is...something. 

Granny’s diner is bursting with people and clatters of heels and a silly, silly jingle bell rattles the walls. For the occasion, everyone brought a dish of their own while Granny arranged the bar to turn it into some kind of buffet where the guests get to pick and choose what they want to eat. 

Emma stands on the side, an empty glass of champagne clasped between her fingers, as she watches her son queue near the buffet. 

Emma isn’t hungry. In fact, it feels like her stomach is full to the brim with heavy bricks and she cannot swallow anything else down. 

As her gaze wanders and lingers on the Christmas tree, near the stairs, Emma isn’t so sure she wants to be here at all. 

She wants to blame the Wicked Witch for her lack of enthusiasm, but the truth is this scene of profusion and happiness is quite painful to watch. 

There are so many people, and so much noise, and Emma feels like the light garlands are mere colorful spots dancing before her eyes, twirling and twirling, and they will not stop and she wishes they would. 

Hook isn’t there. In fact, since their last conversation in the corridor, he has seemed quite inclined on avoiding her -- which is fair, considering it’s exactly what she’s been doing since she got back from New York. 

Emma sighs, lowering her gaze to watch the Champagne bubbles fizzing inside her glass. Perhaps if he were here, it would be a bit more bearable. Emma frowns, fingers clutching around her glass. Nonsense. 

A warm hand closes over Emma’s shoulder. 

Emma startles, but when she looks up, she only meets Mary Margaret’s gentle green eyes.

“Emma, your plate is still empty. Are you sure you don’t want anything?” 

Emma brushes off the attention. “I’m okay for now, thank you. I’ll go get something later.” 

Dammit. She doesn’t mean to sound this cold, doesn’t mean to push her away like this, but thankfully for her Mary Margaret knows best. 

The next thing she knows her mother is sitting down on a chair next to her. 

“Is everything alright, Emma?” 

Emma hates the concern she hears in her voice, or rather she hates that it is somehow enough to tighten her throat and burn her eyes, and that there is a part of her that is desperate to feed on it. Maybe, just maybe, her mother can help her lift the bricks down in her stomach.

“I’m okay, I’m just --” 

But then Emma glances down again, and she stares at mother’s hand, brushing over this round, loved belly and Emma’s breath catches in her throat. 

Run. 

“Emma, you are…?” 

Something clatters down to the floor, and suddenly everything is too much. Emma’s eyes widen and before she knows it she’s moved up from her chair, heart pounding. 

“I need to get some air,” she says very quickly, putting her coat on with trembling fingers. 

The siren keeps blaring in her mind. Run. Run. Run. 

“Please, will you make sure Henry eats something? I won’t be long.” 

Emma does not wait for her mother’s answer to flee from the dinner, bursting through the front door. 

The icy winter air leaps onto her skin just like she expected it to and Emma sighs in relief, closing her eyes. Her legs are still trembling beneath her weight, and her blood is still pulsating at her temples, but at least she is outside now. Her lungs quickly fill in with December smells — burnt wood, misty dead leaves and something almost magical that crackles as she breathes. 

Outside, beyond the quiet chirping of insects, there is no noise. And it is incredibly peaceful. 

Emma breathes in, and out, envisioning her anxiety slowly flowing out of her body like trails of electricity. 

“Swan, are you alright?” 

Her eyes shoot open as her heart skips a beat. There he is. Hook is sitting alone, his flask of rum in hand and his legs crossed under the table. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice still stammering. 

Shit. She didn’t mean it to sound like that. Too late, Hook’s smile has already faded into a mirthless expression. Emma curses herself inward. 

“It is always a pleasure to see you too, Swan.” 

Oh she hates the tone of his voice, this distant, cold tone that sounds so sad, so sad. She cannot bear it. 

“I’m sorry,” she exhales rapidly and she sees his eyebrow raise up under the surprise as she heaves short breathes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A pause to stretch her hands, to feel the cold seize them gently. And then she tries again: “What I meant is.... why are you not inside?” 

He’s quick to strike back but his tone is tender: “Why aren’t you?” 

Although her heart still beats uncomfortably fast, he makes her smile. 

“Don’t change the subject.” 

She wonders if he can tell, if he can tell that she is still shaking, if he can tell that it is helping to simply be there and talk about something else. 

Unfortunately for her, her legs are still frozen and she stands on the stairs leading up to Granny’s as he ponders his words. 

Of course he can tell. Open book. 

“I’m not sure people really want me there,” he says. 

Emma’s stomach lurches forward just as her legs begin moving against her will. “That’s not true,” she begins, still walking towards him. 

She does not understand the wave of relief that washes over her as she strides his way, and suddenly the Champagnes bubbles are fizzing gently inside her empty belly. 

“Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite and distant. 

“Yes,” she asserts. She fists her cold palms. “People want you around. Look at Henry, he really likes you. And I --” she begins and then stops in her tracks. 

She’s standing before him now, and he’s staring at her with his bold blue eyes, his expression blank. 

He isn’t making this easier for her, but when did she make things easy for him? 

“And you…?” He’s challenging her, taunting her to jump the one step she will not take with him. 

She breathes in the cold air. 

“And I could use you around, in case something bad happens--” 

His mask finally drops, his eyebrow raising. “-- in case something bad happens?” he repeats, frankly grinning now. 

Emma’s lips quiver with a smile. “In case something bad happens,” she confirms, nodding. 

All anxiety has now departed from her body and Emma feels light for the first time in...in a very long time.   

And then Hook’s standing up in front of her, and Emma’s surprised to see how close they’ve gotten. 

There is this terrible moment during which they both stare at each other, and Emma glances down at his lips and fancies herself leaning in and -- 

“It’s a shame you’re not carrying that stupid leather satchel, tonight,” she says. 

She does not leave him time to ponder over her words before she crosses Granny’s door again. 

As things turn out, Hook fills the chair next to hers quite nicely. And by his side, the dinner isn’t that noisy and overwhelming anymore -- not that Emma would tell him. 

“Killian showed up! That’s great!” Henry looks up from his game when the pirate has gone to get one more serving of turkey. 

Emma smiles down at him. “Yeah. I’m glad, too.” Hook definitely seems at ease, twirling among the rest of the guests, one eyebrow raised as he examines the food on display. 

Clearly, he was wrong. He fits in just fine. And Emma starts thinking perhaps she was wrong, too. 

“It’s good for him, you know,” her son continues and Emma blinks to see Henry, head down, focused on his game as he speaks, “I don’t think he has that many friends here, but he definitely likes you.” 

Emma is glad Henry isn’t looking at her then, because it saves her the embarrassment of having to justify the blush on her cheeks. 

When Henry’s climbed back up to the B&B to get some sleep, and everyone’s helped to clean the dinner, and Hook proposes one last drink outside, Emma may or may not ask him to go ahead in order to retrieve a bush of mistletoe from the window above her booth. 

She may or may not slide it into her pocket and join the pirate outside. 

She lets him tell his ravishing tales of pirating and freedom, as they exchange his flask of rum. The starry sky is their only quiet companion as they sit outside until eventually the tingle of her lips cannot be ignored anymore, and Emma gets the small sprig out of her coat. 

The bewildered look on Hook’s face is a sight for the ages. 

“Pirate,” he says then, and he probably means to say more, but Emma is holding the mistletoe above their heads resolutely. 

“Tradition is tradition” she says, even as her free hand already closes over the lapel of his coat. 

“As you wish…”

Later, much later, Emma will blame the mix of rum and champagne for the way their lips met in an icy, starry kiss and Emma lingered above his lips, just a little bit, unable to get enough of him, until they were both panting outside of Granny’s -- forehead against forehead, twirls of white smoke escaping their mouths. 

And Hook will definitely tease her about her definition of “one time things” but surely that matters little when she can just grab the lapel of his coat to make him shut up once and for all. 

[sapphicambitions]

Okay so I finished watching black sails a few days ago and I’ve spent the last few days reading other metas and posts and interviews about Flint & Silver to gather my thoughts (thots, if you will) and these are the conclusions I have come to:

John Silver and James Flint have the most interesting and well written dynamic ives ever seen between two characters. I am endlessly fascinated by their relationship. Because it’s so unique and complex and I can’t think of any other relationship between two men on screen that even gets close to being on their level, that level of intimacy and their DIALOGUE????? especially in season four????? there is no daylight between us???? i have made myself transparent to you????? you already know me in all the ways that’s relevant???? fuck me up dude!!!!!

All of that being said, I don’t like… ship them. At least not in the conventional way of shipping. I don’t see them as boyfriends or husbands or even as romantically involved. Like I said I LOVE their dynamic and I am fascinated with the complexities of it, and I really and truly think that they loved each other deeply, but to me the idea of them being like in an explicit, canon relationship sort of... cheapens it?

Especially if we’re talking about seasons 1-3 flint & silver. To me, saying that they were romantically involved during that time period sort of misses the point of their build up. Because they didn’t even really like each other then. They were necessary evils in each other’s stories. ESPECIALLY in seasons 1 & 2, they weren’t friends! They were work place acquaintances who needed each other to survive. And remember Silver’s whole season three arc of “I think flint controls the weather”???? Lmaooo the idea that they were romantically involved at that time, to me, almost does a disservice to their characters and the journey that they took to get to where they were in the fourth season.

Because I don’t think that they truly started to even be friends until that night around the fire. When Silver asked in who’s name they were fighting the war and Flint told the truth about his past. When Flint made himself transparent and vulnerable to Silver, and they openly discussed their partnership. When they came to a mutual understanding of each other, when they felt the possibility of the future together, that is when they really and truly emotionally connected and became more than work place acquaintances, became even more than just casual friends.

But I still don’t think that they were like, together together in season four.

Do I think there were extremely high levels of homoeroticism? also-fucking-lutely. But I don’t think they were romantically involved. For many reasons.

I think that the last two episodes of the series do not work if they did not love each other. The last two episodes are not effective if there is not something deeper there, if there isn’t something to lose when they fall apart. Like when Billy and Silver fall apart? I was like aww they were friends. :( and that’s it. When Silver and Flint fell apart? I sobbed my fucking eyes out. Would I have been as destroyed by Silver’s betrayal if I didn’t truly believe that these two men had a deep and profound relationship, that they needed each other and completed each other? Lmao no! No I wouldn’t have. If Flint didn’t love Silver, he wouldn’t have taught him sword fighting, he wouldn’t have shot Dooley, he wouldn’t have looked so deeply crushed when Silver raised the gun. Because the look on his face? When that happens? That is heartbreak, pure and simple.

BUT. I ALSO think that the last two episodes of the series do not work if that love is explicit and defined. I do not think it works if Silver is fully aware of that love. Because I don’t think he is. I think he has found himself closer and closer to Flint, committing himself to Flint, becoming the other half of Flint, and….. doesn’t quite realize how homoerotic it is lmao. Because he has Madi! And Silver has never really had someone to be close to before, so I honestly don’t believe that Silver was aware how how Homo(TM) the whole thing was with Flint, at least not consciously, at least not out loud. And I say this because there is a very important moment in the finale that doesn’t work if their relationship is defined and official or romantic in any way.

It’s when Flint says “This will all have been for nothing. We will have been for nothing. Defined by their histories. Distorted to fit into their narrative. Until all that is left of us are the monsters in the stories they tell their children,” That is his last card to play. That, to me, is the THESIS of the series, that moment is what they have been building up to for four seasons, that is Flint’s driving force as a person. And Silver says: “I don’t care,”

That moment is reliant on Silver not understanding the queer implications behind what Flint said. That moment is reliant on Silver being a man who has never experienced the life ruining homophobia that Flint has experienced. That moment is reliant on Silver genuinely not caring, it is reliant on the complete disconnect from Flint in that moment, and if the two of them had been in a defined relationship at the moment, I wouldn’t have bought it. And it is heartbreaking and tragic because Silver DOESN’T get it. He doesn’t! He does not know what it means to fear how the world will see you for who you fundamentally are, fear how mothers will tell their children about you, fear how your story will be told, and I do not buy that moment if Silver is aware of his own queerness. Maybe other characters in other stories, I might, but Silver, self serving and self saving Silver, to not care? He has to genuinely NOT care.

I’ve mentioned before in other posts that watching Silver and Flint’s story play out is a lot like watching Romeo and Juliet, that you know that their story will end in tragedy, but you watch it unfold anyway. But there’s another reason I think they parallel the star crossed lovers. And I think the moral of Romeo & Juliet (it’s my favorite play step up and fight me) is not that the young lovers were stupid and reckless, but the moral is that they might have lived if not for the outside forces trying to drive them apart. Romeo and Juliet is about how the toxic and warring world in which they lived wasn’t sustainable for their love, that they were driven to their deaths by parents who didn’t realize the harm they were inflicting upon their children.

I digress but the POINT being that it is outside forces that drove the two of them apart. (Get Wreked, Billy) The toxic and warring world in which they lived wasn’t sustainable for their partnership. You can see it best in 4x09 when the flashbacks of the two of them alone on the beach are funny and tender and vulnerable and open between the two of them, and present day where Silver’s trying to get Flint a little bit KILLED and you can see how much things have changed between them since that day on the beach.

How might have things changed in another direction if they hadn’t been driven apart? Because like I said earlier, Silver and Flint’s relationship was a JOURNEY, it didn’t happen overnight. And I can’t help but feel like they were only at the beginning of their relationship when they fell apart and that is another tragedy, the what if? of it all. How might their relationship have changed and gotten even deeper if they hadn’t been pushed apart? What hadn’t been explored between them, what was still left unsaid when Silver raised his gun at Flint? So that’s ANOTHER reason I don’t think they were like ~together~ because there is tragedy is losing something you don’t have, that you might have had. Losing something that you don’t know what it could have become and that breaks my heart because it feels like they had only JUST begun and then they were ending in the most heartbreaking and tragic way.

Also to be honest, the main reason that I love Them is because I’m a slut for tragedy, and knowing that something is going to have a sad ending but rooting for them anyway. Romeo and Juliet, the Hunchback of Notre Dame musical, Hadestown, the Song of Achilles, They Both Die at The End, even rewatching Brokeback Mountain, you get it. Tell me that they aren’t going to make it in the end and then let me watch them fall in love anyway. Let me watch them grow to love each other knowing that they’re going to end in tragedy. I should be sobbing on the floor by the end of it, I WANT to be sobbing on the floor by the end of it. That’s my shit. It is literally my favorite type of story. fuck me UP

So those are my Thots (TM) about Flint & Silver. They have one of the most well written relationships I’ve ever seen on screen and I am endlessly fascinated by them. I don’t like romantically ship them because I think it’s too complicated to reduce their relationship to “they’re dating“ when it is their journey from reluctant work place acquaintances to “It’s hard to know where one began and the other ended” that is so incredible. But I do think there is a deep and profound love between them and the finale doesn’t WORK unless they love each other, but it also has to be somewhat unspoken for it to work, too.  Because I don’t think Silver was aware of his own queerness and I think he has to actively not understand the queerness of Flint’s fight in order to do what he does otherwise I wouldn’t buy it. And I think that they were only at the beginning of their partnership, and I wonder where it could have gone if they hadn’t been ripped apart. Theirs is a tragedy of losing someone you love and losing something that isn’t easily defined, losing something that could have been. And their tragedy does not work if they didn’t have something to lose.

[galaxyedging]

Reflection

Casskane on AO3

Summary:

More Mando fluff. Spoilers for season 2 'The Believer'. Din tells you about something that happened on the mission, fluffy times happen.

Work Text:

You stood watching the reflection of the flames as they danced across the Mandalorian's helmet. His stillness would be off putting to most but to you it was telling. It's not as if Din didn't often sit so still that he resembled a powered down droid, you just knew him better. You'd travel with him on and off since he rescued the kid. You yourself had broken into the Imp's base after hearing the little green guy calling for help. You had escaped with Mando just to get off the planet. It was only during a quiet moment on Sorgan that you told Mando about exactly how you had hear the kid and realised you were better off sticking together.

You had been laying low in a cheap motel on Navarro. One night you awoke, laid there in the relative silence listening out for the sound that had woken you. You were shivering despite the heat. The hairs on your neck stood on end then you heard it. You'd had months to think about that night by the time you explained it to Mando, even after going over and over it in your mind, you still couldn't quite describe it. It was akin to listening to the melody of a long forgotten song and having some of the lyrics come back to you. You couldn't make out exactly what words were spoken or the language that was being used but the message was clear to you, "Help me".

After 'acquiring' a Trooper uniform you'd infiltrated the base, only to come face to face, figuratively at least, with Mando. He drew his blaster on you but hesitated for a moment. In that couple of seconds you heard a door open behind you. You instinctively dropped to the floor and drew your own blaster. Between the two of you you took out the four Troopers that piled though the door. After a quick silent exchange you both lowered your blasters and you lead Mando to the child. You'd later asked Mando why he hesitated. He'd shrugged and said he thought you were a little short for a Stormtrooper. It was the first hint of humour you'd heard from him. Rising up to your full height, from were you had sat in the cargo hold, you quipped that you were tall enough to be a Mandalorian, pointing out that you were only a couple of inches shorter than him. He'd let out a breathy chuckle and you'd blushed slightly when you realized how close you had been standing to him and the way it has made you feel.

You made a firm decision to lock any thoughts about Mando stemming from that moment away in your mind and never open them. Starting something more that the necessary partnership you two had had bad idea written all over it.

You suddenly realized that Mando had turned his attention from the fire to you standing in the doorway of your accommodation for the night. You had all decided to get some rest before going after Moff Gideon. Boba Fett brought you to a tiny abandoned outpost on a backwater planet. Each hut was only big enough for one person, all they contained was a bed, small cupboard with a lantern on top and a chair. Seven huts in total with a fire pit in the middle. It's position on top of a hill made it defensible. You looked at each other for a long while. It was just getting to the point of being uncomfortable when Din stood and made his way to you. "Can we talk?" His voice was raspier than usual and his tone told you that what ever he had to say was important. "Of course." You moved back into your hut, you gestured to the chair intending to sit next to him on the bed.

After you closed the door you realized he hadn't taken a seat rather he stood facing it. You took a moment to study his body language. Even though he was weary and sore was the mission on Morak his posture was still stiff and tense. It wasn't that surprising considering the situation but Din usually had a way of coping with stress and taken his downtime when he could.

"Mando?" you asked lowering the hand you had unconsciously reached out to him with "Are you ok?".

He slowly turned to you, a bitter huff of laughter escaping him. You realized how stupid your question was given the circumstances. You opened your mouth to clarify when he spoke again "I removed my helmet. In front of others." The weight of what he had just said hit you in the gut. You had begged him to let you remove his helmet on Navarro to save his life. It was the moment you had realised how much he meant to you. He had refused and in turn begged you to get yourself and the kid to safety.

When you met up again after him meeting some other Mandalorians, that removed their helmets freely, he told you all about it and his resolve to his creed seemed as strong as ever.

You stayed silent, you had no idea what to say to him. After a moment he continued "Mayfield saw an officer he served under. He didn't want to take the risk of being recognized so I tried to access the terminal." his voice sounded distant as if he was telling a story that happened to someone else "It scanned my helmet and started a countdown..I...I didn't have a choice. It was the only way. If I lose the kid..." he trailed off.

You moved closer to him, anyone else you'd reach out to them, offer a comforting touch but laying your hand on Mando's basker didn't seem to offer the same meaning to you. "You did the right thing." you smiled brightly at him. "We're going to get him back."

His shoulders dropped like a tension wire between them had been snipped. "I know and until I seek guidance from the Amourer I will continue to honour my creed."

You gave another reassuring smile "So you're good for now?" He let out a long sigh

"No." Your heart sank. This time you did lay your hand on him. His arm had been raised slightly across him body and you placed your hand on his forearm. He looked down at the contact.

"Din?" You pressed. You'd never spoken his real name before. His helmet snapped up to you at the sound of it.

"I've thought about removing my helmet...." he paused at your slight gasp."....once or twice. Never did I think that Mayfield would be the first person I knew in over 30 years to see my face." He looked down at your hand again. This time he covered it with his own. "I thought....well, I thought it would be you."

He pushed your hand down gently to remove his arm from where you had now begun to grasp it. Before you could fully comprehend what he was saying he lifted his hands to his helmet. There was a hissing sound just as you grabbed his arms to still them.

"Wait!" The gravity of the moment struck you. What this meant to him. What you must mean to him. You began to ramble, trying to convey your feelings to him. ." You don't have to...I mean, it doesn't change anything....the helmet, it doesn't change how I feel...I still..." you took in a quivering breathe unable to finish the last thought out loud, only silently admitting it to yourself.

You heard a smile in Din's voice as he said "I know." You loosened your grip on his arms and let him remove his helmet. He dropped it with a dull thud onto the bed as you stared at him. Something between a nervous laugh and a chuckle of delight bubbled up from inside you. He narrowed his eyes at you before you explained. "Maker, you're handsome." You mentally berated yourself. The poor man was risking something that was a huge part of his life, his identity, his life in an incredible, beautiful gesture to you and that's all you can say.

"Really?" Din asked nervously running his hand through his hair. He had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Your big, tough faceless Mandalorian being suddenly being so vulnerable and awkward in front of you. He began to laugh too. Once the laughter subsided you couldn't help but reach out to touch his face. You laid your palm against the side of his face and rubbed you thumb gently over his cheek. He leaned into you touch. He removed his glove and mirrored the same action to you. His hand was warm and softer than you would have thought. You removed your hand from his face to take his hand in yours. You turned you head slightly as you brought his hand to you lips and laid a gentle kiss to his palm. Din closed his eyes and moaned lightly at the feeling.

You intertwined your fingers with his pulled him closer to you. His free hand made it's way up to cup the side of your head. You took a second to lean into it before looking back at Din. His warm brown eyes were looking into yours and you notice the tip of his tongue quickly sweep across his bottom lip. He leaned in towards you. "Mando!" Boba Fett's voice rang out across the outpost. You could hear his heavy footsteps approaching. Din replaced his helmet just as you saw Boba's armoured shoulder pass the small window behind Din. He knocked on your door. "Y/N?" Din sighed before answering for you "I'm here." Din dipped his head apologetically towards you, heading out the door to speak to the other man.

You sighed, taking a moment to try and sort out all the feelings rushing through you. Most prominently, annoyance, at Boba for interrupting. Din had left the door open so you moved forward to close it. Still lost in your thoughts you were startled when Din's gloved hand gripped the edge of the door and pushed it open. He slipped back inside, kicking the door shut with his foot while removing his helmet. He moved in a blur. You felt the cold of his baskar helmet press into the small of you back, as he wrapped the arm that held it around you. His ungloved hand came to the back of your neck and he pressed his lips to yours. They were softer than you'd imagine all those time lying in the dark aboard the Razor Crest. He kept them firmly pressed to yours for few moments before pulling away. For a very tame, chaste kiss and considering you'd never been at a lost for company in your life, it was easily the most passionate, incredible kiss you'd ever had. He leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning your face as he panted slightly. "I told him I had something important to do. I better go see what he wanted." Replacing his helmet he slipped out into the night leaving you to flop down on your bed as you grinned like a giddy teenager.

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham x Reader one-shot: Seasons of Love

Spring, the season of new beginnings and the blossoming of life, that was when he had first met you. It was towards the beginning of the school year. With his ever-loyal Devas by his side he had set out to explore this new domain, after all he and his companions would be living in such a large facility for the next three years, knowing the lay of the land would be useful.

Stepping out onto the field he found himself trailing along it on a stone pathway. Sparse wispy clouds speckled the sky, the sun’s rays so warm and inviting while the air cool, for a moment one might think they were high up in the mountains. Which made it even more of a surprise when his Devas skittered away! Gundham kept a vigilant eye out, allowing them to wander for a moment since they were likely getting antsy from being in his scarf all day in an unfamiliar place. What he found curious though, was who they ran straight too. A person in Victorian gothic clothing, looking dreadfully exhausted, sighing as they flipped through a writing pad. They sat on the stone planter which held a small cherry tree. Several of the petals had fallen atop them, so simple and plain, beautifully contrasting with the more complex designs in their clothes. Even their posture, how they carried theirself, there was this sort of contrasting elegance to it. Slumped over, resting their chin in their palm, their legs crossed, foot swaying to the beat of some tune unknown to Gundham.

“Hmm? Oh, hello little ones. Come out here to revel in the splendor nature has given us today as well?” They looked to the Devas who scurried about beside them. They lightly chuckled, placing down their writing pad. “You seem to be in lively spirits. I should hope your time has been in better graces than mine and you’ve not come here for shelter from some beast which may wish to harm you.” They raised a brow, smirking at the Devas’ chattering. They sifted through a bag they had beside them and took out something. “My, since you have dared to be brave enough to travers these horrent plains, I suppose you do deserve a reward.” They gave each one a seed from the bag in hand. “Hold thy tongue for a moment and answer me this. You hold a high enough power level to speak with the Four Dark Devas of Destruction!?” “So the Overlord himself finally approaches.” They glanced to him, briefly shaking their head before their attention had returned to the Devas. “Sadly, that is not a power I hold, though one I would give much to achieve. Having created and traversed many worlds, even if I may not understand the language I may read and interpret action and tone. That is the power of Y/N, the stringer of fates, the Super High School Level Playwright.”

With tired eyes you gave him a strained smile. “Hmm, I see. Not as powerful as myself or the Dark Devas, yet still much higher in level than a mere mortal. I’ll grace you with my name, never forget it for I am Gundham Tanaka, the Supreme Overlord of Ice. This is the name that shall rule the world!” He sat beside you, the Devas immediately hopping into his lap or burrowing into his scarf. “I can’t seem to find your true power though, an impenetrable fog has consumed thy being, making searching out your true form nearly impossible.” “Yes, even I can not seek out myself. I am lost, unable to find my way. I had come here in search, yet all has still left me. As of moons ago, this begun, the endless chase, and now a curse most foul has befallen my world and so here I lay, frozen in time.” A sigh escaped you and you flipped through the writing pad, beautiful handwriting sprawled across every last page, and yet something seemed lacking. From what he could glean they were all dark tales, but it seemed there was no reason for such bleakness, no tale to tell through it all. Seemingly a reflection of what you were lost in, only feeding it more and more in an endless cycle.

…

“Huh?” Your drowning thoughts came to a stop hearing the pitter-patter of little paws against stone and paper, and seeing the Devas trot across the writing pad, one even perching on your shoulder. “The Devas wish for more tribute from you, but that of a different form.” A giggle soon erupted from you feeling the Devas scurry about, their whiskers tickling their neck. You held them close, a light blush spreading across your cheeks as you pet them or lead them around with treats. Man, though animal, was one step away from them. It was not often The Overlord of Ice found such beings to be beautiful, but in that moment, perhaps it was how such a person got along so well with himself and his Devas, perhaps it was how the sun rays has beamed between the leaves and how they framed your figure, perhaps it was but the spring air, perhaps it was all those, whatever the reason may be, he instantly found a connection with you, and it was one he’d like to nurture.

Summer, the season of fun and excitement, that was when you had officially gotten together. Chiaki managed to organize her rambunctious class into a trip to the beach, and Gundham had invited you, Hajime was coming along as the honorary member of the class and the others liked you, so it was no surprise to them that you had showed up.

“A castle worthy of gods to survey this new land, truly the Overlord of Ice has mastered many arts.” “Of course, for this is but one step for the Tanaka Empire, I must master all things!” You simply adored hearing that uproarious laughter as you watched his Devas race about the sandcastle. Now was your perfect chance. Suddenly that laughter was cut off, Gundham frozen for a moment wondering what exactly had happened. Seeing you giddily running away with a water gun in hand he immediately puzzled out why he was cold and wet. Thankfully you had the forethought to avoid shooting his scarf. Swiftly he scooped his beloved companions into his scarf and took the second water gun you had conveniently left behind. “Wait, San-D!? Where are you!?” A malicious cackle filled the air, even greater in power and volume than the crashing waves. He looked up finding you standing atop some large rocks by the shore. “Poor, foolish, Tanaka. Haven’t you realized it now!? San-D has joined my crew, and together we shall take over this island!” You cackled once more, San-D simply sitting on your shoulder munching on a seed. “Wha- How could this be!? You fiend! Stand down from your perch atop that treacherous cliff and face me in battle! I shall show you the true strength of Gundham Tanaka!” “Tch, how pathetic, if an Overlord of the most horrendous and dangerous of Waters wishes it, come face me yourself you coward! What kind of king of all things, even pirates such as I, are you even if you can’t reach me!?” “Fine then, I shall steal back my treasure. Pick a god and pray that you may survive this fight scoundrel of the seas!”

You dashed about, kicking up sand wherever you went. It was a fierce battle filled with betrayal and trickery; even underhanded tactics were used! “Nevermind, hide me!” “What the-” You ducked behind her just as a shot grazed past the pair of you. “Hah! No longer can yee fight, for I have captured the Queen! Take another shot and I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger!” “Not the Dark Queen!” Sonia looked between you and Gundham in confusion for a moment before noticing you had a water gun pressed to her back. “Ah, I’ve been taken hostage!” “You WHAT!” You, Gundham, and Sonia ignored Kazuichi’s panicked cry as she continued. “Don’t worry about me Tanaka, do whatever you must!” “Hah! The Overlord is much like the ice he so controls, he may seem cold hearted, but he can melt and lose his edge, he’d never attack you! Now he may never seize this day and it is mine and mine alone!” “Is that so?” Before you knew it, Sonia had done a leg sweep, knocking you onto the ground, in the process she had even taken your water gun and shot you. “Excellent move, I would have expected nothing less from the Dark Queen!” You shrieked, holding San-D, shielding the little creature as you ran from their shots. “What’s going on here!? I heard a scream!” “Nidai!” You dashed up to him, absolutely beaming. “Teach me how to be the greatest at water gun fights!” He smirked, seeing Gundham and Sonia not far away chasing after you. “Alright! Let’s do this!” He passed you a tub of water balloons from seemingly out of nowhere and that was how your battle had grown. Soon Kazuichi and others had joined your side while Akane, Hajime and others had joined Gundham and the entire shore had become a battlefront for you.

When the sun had begun to set, that orange, yellow, and purple sky was reflected across the rippling water, all had collapsed, the battle having no winners. Out of breath you sat by the shore, dried off and ready to head back to Hope’s Peak, simply waiting for the others to get ready. It was a little lonely with San-D having returned to Gundham’s side, but soon you’d be packed in a car or truck with many of the others, so you wanted to enjoy the peace and space while you could. Then… someone sat beside you, but you didn’t know who it was till several hamsters had ran across your lap. “Ah, so the Overlord of Ice, now pirate king wishes to gloat over his well won victory?” “…” “Supreme Overlord?”

Finally, you had turned to face him, finding his seemed to be lost in thought, his face partially buried in his scarf. “Wrighter of Dimensions… the world you had summoned us all to, it was an extravagant event I had not found, let alone partaken in, the like of in eons. I give you my thanks for this… Though I have yet to reach my treasure.” “Hmm? I know not of which you speak, is there a meaning undefined to me laced in your lines?” “…” He… blushed. Pulling up his scarf he attempted to hide it though. “A being such as you, only you have yet to cease to astound me. Never has there been any akin to you. As much revelry there is in locking horns, attempting to out match one another… I find… the most… the most… fantastic, most astonishing of recollections were formed when you are by my side, not across. My treasure… it not yet exists, but it is one that which can only be formed with you. I… I-I- Ugh! BE STILL MY RACING HEART!” You desperately held in telling Gundham how adorable he looked when flustered, you wanted him to take his time with this and not accidentally tease him and possibly hurt his feelings. Taking a deep breath, he locked eyes with you. “D-do you too treasure us together? If so then… would you partake in courting rituals, to… a-are you my soul’s mate?”

“o-okay.” You would have said more, spoken it within Gundham’s flowery vernacular as you always had with him, but in the moment, you mind was blank, you weren’t setting the scene or manipulating the world for a story you were just… in the moment.

“Wait, does this mean they’re dating now?” “Uhh-” “Yes, Yes, they are! I’m so glad for you Tanaka!” “Are you sure?” “Hey, if Sonia says they’re dating, they’re dating!” Gundham abruptly stood up, wiping around finding his entire class hiding behind various items and Kazuichi lighting fireworks while Ibuki began to play some rock love ballad. “WHAT SORT OF DEVILRY IS THIS!?” Chiaki looked to the others for a moment before looking back to the completely flustered you and Gundham. “Celebrating you two finally getting together. And I win the betting pool.” You now stood up. “You guys were making bets on this!?” “Oh, no, not about IF you got together, but WHEN, we all believed in you two.” “THAT’S NOT THE POINT! Though I do appreciate the support.”

Autumn, the season of departure, that was when he first said he loved you. The Devas huddled close in his scarf, seeking shelter from the chilling winds that rolled past the early morning hours, tossing the leaves off the trees, carrying them along through the air and across the ground. He didn’t wish to remove his hand from his warm pocket, yet he must to unlock his room. He adjusted his arm for a moment, making sure the package tucked under it wouldn’t fall out before dispelling the barrier which sealed his domain.

As he yawned tears percolated in the corners of his eyes. After placing the box and scarf on the bedside table he flopped onto his bed. As his Devas hopped onto his pillows and raced around his bed, he took the package. He first opened the letter attached to the box. Though you texted and video called everyday you still sent letters which always filled the Overlord with unimaginable excitement. Just as always it was a script and notes you had sent in a desperate attempt to not get stuck working on it when you were supposed to be out partaking in plays, not writing new ones. He kept it in the file folder where he had placed the others for safe keeping… not before reading the entire thing first, he simply could not resist to see the rough draft of your creativity since you were alright with him doing so. Then when opening the box, he found the most beautiful of jewelry, this time a small broach, one that would fit perfectly on his scarf, an abstract, light design fit for one such as he. Though he planned on donning it not long later in the day he still placed it on the shelf where all his pieces were spread across, covering the whole thing. Countless rings, necklaces, earring and many more, all from this single trip, Gundham had planned on getting a separate box for it all once you had returned, given he wasn’t sure how much more you were going to send to him.

Then his phone came to life, screen turning on, an alarm playing. Unlocking it and accepting the video call he tried rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. “Aw~ Good tidings my Supreme Overlord. I trust that veil of darkness had enamored thy mortal form?” “Most certainly.” “And did my most recent artifact find you well?” Smiling Gundham pointed the camera towards his collection. He swore his heart melted hearing your giddy laughter. At least you weren’t able to see his ever-darkening blush. “My Emperor… this tribute, as much as I adore it all, I can’t stifle myself from being concerned. You only have so much time and gold to give, do you leave enough for thy own wellbeing?” “… Tanaka, I may only find calming respite sending you my affections. No space, no sight, no hearing, I long for even the smallest of embraces. Giving you my sentiment in any form is the only way to put at ease my aching heart. You have no need for concern, this will be just the same when I return. Due to your poison, I may not touch you so I must give my affections in forms such as this.”

…

“I love you too.”

Wait…

Gundham froze, dropping his phone in the process realizing what he had just said. Immediately he heard his Devas chattering away. “S-shussh! Enough! Cease! I- Enough of that! I may express my feelings to my partner, it’s not-… My own Devas how could you do this to me?!” He covered his face with his hands, kneeling to the ground unable to stand on his unsteady knees. “Uh… My Overlord?” Then he remembered the phone, the smile so evident in your tone. He scrambled to pick it up, dropping it again a few times in the process. “I-… Just… re-return when you can!” And he ended the call…

Gundham almost missed class that day embarrassed yet… happily indulging in that entire encounter.

Winter, the season of endings and romance, the season… the season he first kissed you. Awaking the morning of his birthday he was surprised by the amount of gifts he had received in the mail, and… many were from strangers? Very confused he went to class anyway where he ended up explaining the experience to his classmates. That was when Nagito and Sonia pipped up. “Ah so it seems Tanaka’s fans are celebrating too.” “Tanaka, here I’ll show you!” At the computer room Sonia had shown Gundham the message boards made of Hope’s Peak, ones of specific students, such as him. “So many already know of my rule. Excellent. And they even pay tribute!”

The moment class had come to an end you were already by his side, holding his gloved hand. “So, have my ears been deceived, or have you received the tribute you rightly deserve from the world?” “Indeed, I have. Though no matter gifts of the thousands may never compare to a single moment with you.” “ah, so my Overlord is feeling affectionate today I see.” His blush darkened at your sickeningly sweet tone, and he stiffened as he felt how you so tenderly squeezed his hand. He could see how you were holding back. He so appreciated how you had always respected his boundaries with touch, instead lacing your affection through words and gifts, but… at times he wondered how affectionate you would be if he held no reservations… “Well, should you be prepared let us set off for our ritual!”

It was a lovely and calm evening, the pair of you simply walking through a few botanical gardens. Most places were already decked out in holiday cheer, some parks even offering out cocoa for any who visited. Having been on your feet for hours, you decided to rest at a gazebo. To Gundham’s confusion though, you stopped before the building, even letting go of his hand. “My Emperor?” “My apologies, it’s but nothing. My gaze had just caught something.” “Certainly, it’s not nothing, you’d never let loose your embrace otherwise.” After appearing to think of something for a moment you pointed to… some plant tied to the ceiling of the gazebo. “Moons ago, back when autumn had taken root, when I was training in America I learned of their traditions. One such is that should a pair stand under mistletoe when ice and frost had consumed the world… they must kiss.” Gundham simply stared as you walked inside taking a seat. “Just a tradition I recalled, as I said it’s but nothing.”

You simply looked out to the gardens and forested shrubbery that surrounded you, cooing over the atmosphere the snow had made blanketing the world. Then with a questioning expression you looked to him, feeling he held your upper arms. And you froze as he leaned in.

…

And he stopped.

Gently, he gently placed his bandaged hand over your mouth before closing his eyes as well as the distance between you. The grip of his hand on your arm tightened as his heart pounded in his chest, nerves striking him as if it were lightning. As he parted his breath hitched, shakily letting go. “… You okay, Tanaka?” Unable to speak he simply nodded, covering his face with his scarf, desperate to hide his blush. You smiled, your own blush darkening as you placed your hand atop his bandaged one. And Gundham lightly pressed your fingers together, loosely interlocking them.

Spring, the season of meetings, the season Gundham was rather fond to see again. Though he had experienced the passage of time for so long, the seasons seemed to hold new meaning to him now. He wondered what new meaning he’d find for spring this year with you.

[metinthehallway]

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hello! Here is a simple little 3.5k fic! I thank @goldenbluesuit for hosting this spectacular fic challenge! I love what I've read so far and I can’t wait to keep reading. Also, thank you to @lilacobscure and @arrogantstyles for beta-ing and just being...awesome. I hope you all like it. :) 

Warnings: mention of the word bloke from a non-Brit

Annie has had it. She’s holding two of her fluffiest pillows against both of her ears and has her white noise machine droning on at full volume. And she can still hear the sultry bass of Andy Williams singing his little heart out. She can hear him as clear as day, as if he were performing his very own live concert in the corner of her bedroom. Don’t even get her started on the Christmas lights. Annie had actually gone out and bought an eye mask in order to sleep, as her windows faced the neighbors front yard where Annie’s neighbor, apparently, was the sole reason their local supermarket was sold out of blow up decorations and string lights. 

Harry Styles didn’t even have a lot of real estate to work with in terms of space. But he really made every centimeter count. One morning mid-November, whilst getting her mail, Annie counted about fourteen deflated pop-up corpses staked to the frozen ground, multiple candy canes lining his driveway that were about half the size of her, and masses of tangled lights strung up across every visible square inch of his home. If that wasn’t enough, he had a carefully crafted playlist he turned on every night at eight p.m. sharp that was approximately three hours and forty-nine minutes long before it looped back to the beginning song. She thought, fleetingly, that she should invest in ear plugs.

Annie prides herself on being a patient and understanding person. The only reason why she hasn’t held a covert operation at three in the morning to mercilessly stab a hole in each blow-up, or cut every single criss-crossed wire, or even ambush her neighbor while he walks out his front door in nothing but a fuzzy pink robe and no shoes, demonstrating that universal, oh shit the ground is cold, oh shit, oh shit, jerking walk, is because he only recently moved in next door. She was not about to be the one to ask him to maybe take it easy on the city’s power source, that she also needs electricity for her home, and also how do you fall asleep with this godforsaken music?

Annie is not prideful in this moment. All it takes for her to snap is hearing, “It’s the hap-happiest season of all,” for the forty-fifth time. With a loud groan, she tears off her beautiful, beautiful down comforter and stomps into her shoes, scaring Cindy, her sleeping Persian cat, off the bed. It’s two thirty-six in the morning, she realizes in a far off thought that doesn’t seem to make it to the forefront of her brain, and makes her way over to Harry’s front door. She has the immature urge to punch a smiling Santa sat atop a sleigh filled with presents as she passes it. All the lights are off in his house and Annie doesn’t feel a bit of remorse as she raises a half-asleep arm and slams it against the sturdy oak door of Harry’s house. For a full minute, it’s silent and there appears to be no movement from behind the door. A sliver of apprehension begins to worm its way into Annie’s bones. 

There’s a better way to do this, Annie. Like, in daylight, during normal people hours. 

She starts to turn on her heel, continuing her internal chastising and also external chastising, muttering to herself like a lunatic, when she hears the tell-tale creak behind her and a porch light flickering to life. Annie stands there, her right hand over her eyes, shielding them from the harsh yellow rays. She can make out Harry’s figure, dressed in flannel pajama pants that look like they were previously crumpled on his bedroom floor, a white T-shirt on backwards and inside out, and his signature pink fuzzy robe. His hair sticks up hazardously, sort of like a halo illuminated by the bulb behind him. His eyes are puffy, brows furrowed together and indenting a line in the center of his forehead. Lips as pink as a rose purse together as nostrils flare.

“Is there something I might be able to help you with?” Harry asks, a slight lilt to his gravelly voice. It’s a polite enough question, however it holds an air of carefully restrained annoyance. For a moment, Annie thinks she would be annoyed as well if someone pounded at her front door in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning. She quickly dismisses the thought, actually raising her hand in the air and waving it off as if it was a tangible thing. Harry raises one eyebrow. 

“Good evening, well- morning, my name is Annie. I live next door, I’m twenty-two Ambrose Ave,” Annie starts. She doesn’t know why she announces her house number. She watches his eyes flick to his right where an engraved twenty-four lies, and back to hers. Annie shakes her head slightly before launching into a speech she never prepared.

“I’m here because I think the way you decorate is rude. Do you think, at all, of your neighbors? How do you fall asleep? Do you even have a job?! I never see you leave your house! Not that I’m keeping tabs, I’m just genuinely worried for your electric bill,” she continues, pausing to take a breath. “I have not had a single good nights rest since you started all of this, back in November. I have never hated the sound of Andy Williams’ voice more deeply than I do this holiday season.”

“Excuse me—,”

“Ah-ah! I’m not done, sir. Some of us are employed and have to work at eight a.m., some of us have cats that wake us up in the ass-crack of dawn anyway with their screeches and need all the sleep we can get. Do you know I had to buy a sleep mask because of you? Because of,” she pauses, a red rotating light from a candy cane passing over her face ominously as she turns around and gestures wildly to the commotion around her, “all this?”

“Can I just say—,”

“And the music. Are you eighty years old? The least you could do with this god-awful playlist is add some Mariah Carey, some Buble; even Ariana Grande has some sick Christmas tunes. The ones you chose haven’t been remastered since nineteen thirty-eight,” she finishes, eyes a little too wide, hair disheveled and falling in her face. Her hands are shaking and her heart is beating entirely too fast. Confrontation has never been Annie’s strong suit, evident of the lack of response from Harry as she cuts him off throughout the duration of her mini rant. He just peers back at her, face as still as stone as an uncomfortable silence falls between them. Frosty the Snowman rears its nasty head and Annie finds herself slowly closing her eyes and clenching her fists.

The second Annie starts to open her eyes, she hears the light closing of Harry’s front door and two locks click into place. She stands there, mouth slightly open as the early December chill works its way into her bones. She stares ahead of her and a murderous look takes over her face, cheeks red with the winter wind, lips chapped and tears starting to form on her lash line from the cold.

“What a fucking prick,” Annie mutters to herself. He can’t even respond to her? How childish. She turns around slowly, walking back through the winter wonderland, feeling defeated. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after finally expressing her thoughts, but she knew defeated was not it. 

As she crosses the threshold into her home, she thinks, maybe I could’ve handled that better. Annie prides herself on her patience. She was not patient that night.

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

Over the course of the month, Annie and Harry bump into each other way more than either of them would like. Once, when the mailman dropped off her mother’s monthly care package to Harry’s house, another when Annie had to begrudgingly ask to borrow his shovel when she found her car snowed in one early morning and a broken handle on her own. 

They’ve even begun to see each other in the aisles of their local supermarket. Annie enters the store, unsuspecting and looking for ingredients to make her world renowned charcuterie boards for a work fundraiser. She stops in her tracks and almost drops her jar of green olives when she sees a familiar head of frizzy brown hair. 

Harry is hyper-focused, reading the back of a spray cheese can. Annie tries to sneak by him and grab a box of herb filled crackers. Tries. She is unsuccessful, however, when her purse strap catches on a display and yanks her arm backwards, making her lose grip of the glass jar. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, as she watches the jar sail past Harry and hit the ground, glass exploding all over his shoes. The chattering happening around her ceases, as all of the blood in her body travels to her face. 

“Clean up in aisle four,” deadpans a nearby worker dressed in a horrid shade of neon green. He sighs heavily, murmuring under his breath that he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be picking up all of these olives. 

Annie is mortified. She is unable to tear her focus away from Harry’s soaked suede shoes.  It’s only when he clears his throat and shifts his feet that she raises her head.

“I see… that you’ve really got a vendetta against me,” Harry scoffs, eyes trained on his feet, where the olive juice has to be seeping into his socks. No one likes wet socks. 

“That was completely on accident! I swear! Why is that display sticking three feet into the aisle anyway? That has to be a a safety violation,” Annie pushes out in a rush. There doesn’t seem to be enough air for her lungs in this store. Especially not with Harry now looking intensely at her, almost like he could see right through her. She folds under his gaze.

“It’s okay. I didn’t like these shoes much, to be fair,” Harry shrugs. 

“Really?”

“No,” Harry says. 

“Oh. Well, I can buy you a new pair. How much did you pay for those?” Annie asks, pulling out her wallet.

Harry raises a single eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth turning up and a dimple appearing out of thin air. 

“Too much. Really, it’s fine. The juice is translucent enough. I’ll just use them as house slippers,” he says. He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by the loud squeaking of a bucket skidding across the floor. The neon green worker returns, a dingy looking mop in hand and a frown on his face. His free hand makes the shoo motion to Harry, starting to swipe at the floor, completely ignoring the glass scratching the linoleum that’s mixed in with the olives.

“Do you want any help?” Annie offers, stepping forward to at least pick up the larger shards scattered across the floor. The worker, whose name tag reads Roger, holds up a single pointer finger in her direction and shakes his head. Annie takes the hint, while Harry just shifts his gaze between Roger and the mess on the tiles, mouth somewhat agape. She nudges his shoulder with her own and gestures with her head for them to leave the aisle. 

Annie makes her way up to self-checkout, Harry following suit. They ring their items up in silence next to each other. They find themselves walking through the front door together, and it’s only when they’re outside in the sunshine that Harry lets out the deepest belly laugh Annie has ever heard. 

“Oh my god, my toes are so wet,” Harry says in between breaths. “Did you see the way that bloke’s vein was popping out of his neck? I thought he was about to commit second degree murder right in the condiment aisle.”

Annie’s heartbeat starts to pick up and she begins to laugh along with him. Tears form in both of their eyes and they sparkle in the cold afternoon sunlight. 

“I feel so bad! I don’t even like olives. They were just for my stupid charcuterie boards,” Annie says, laughter dying down. She sighs, wiping at her cheeks. She looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. He looks down at her, smile fading slowly but his face still holding traces of warmth. 

“Well, I should be heading home. See you soon,” Harry bids his goodbye. Annie nods her head in his direction and turns, palming her keys and unlocking her car across the parking lot with a chirp. She unloads her groceries into the trunk and slides into the drivers seat, thinking for a brief moment about the shape of Harry’s smile. 

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

The snow outside is falling. And it’s falling hard. So heavy and consistent that the power lines are drooping underneath the weight and the electricity in Annie’s house is flickering in and out. It’s Christmas Eve and all she wants to do is sleep the night away, then sleep the morning away, then sleep the weekend away. She draws back a curtain and peers at Harry’s lawn, the usual eyesore dark and covered in a blanket of sparkling white snow.

A sharp crack and the sound of something large tumbling to the ground close to Annie’s house makes both her and Cindy jump, eyes alert and tail all puffed out. She goes to open her front door to investigate and sees Cindy dart between her legs a second too late, a gray blur running into the stormy night.

“CINDY!” Annie yells, voice carrying eerily across the empty street. She takes off after the small cat, wearing only her pajamas and a pair of worn slippers. Annie loses her immediately in the snowfall. While outside, she sees the huge tree limb that fell onto Harry’s front yard, covering a third of his decorations, deeming a good chunk of them broken. She wonders for a short second why he hasn’t come out to check on the noise. 

Annie’s heart starts to race as she tries to get a rein on her growing panic. Cindy is a strictly indoor cat, only having been outside for vet visits. She thinks of what would bring her cat back home, yelling her name sweetly and kissing her teeth loudly. She starts to walk towards the tree line, snapping her fingers and chattering her teeth. 

“Annie?” She hears her name being called out from behind her. She throws her head over her shoulder and locks eyes with Harry, standing there in his infamous robe. He’s got his face turned away from the harsh wind and his face is scrunched up in confusion. “What on Earth are you doing out here?! Are you mental?” 

“Cindy got out! I don’t know where she went. She ran in this direction. She never goes outside, I don’t know what to do,” Annie exclaims, feeling the urge to tear at her hair. 

“Who’s Cindy?” Harry asks.

“My cat! She was scared by the branch falling and snuck right past me when I opened the door,” she explains, arms crossing over her chest as the chill of the night bites at her skin. She shivers, turning back towards the trees. They look like they’re beginning to come alive.

Harry looks her up and down and comes up behind her, wrapping that godforsaken robe around her shaking frame. She looks up at him, grateful for the extra layer. He has a serious look on his face, determined with a mix of compassion, and also curiosity. Annie is suddenly relieved that she has someone with her to handle the situation with more calm than she ever could.

“Why don’t you go inside and grab her favorite treats? And a blanket she loves? Something that smells like you would be best,” Harry says, listing off the necessary items as if he’s done this before. She looks at him, a bit puzzled, and he reads her expression easily.

“Our cats growing up were professional escape artists. I’ve done this once or twice,” he lets out a small chuckle. She nods and heads towards her house, grabbing everything they need and changing into a pair of winter boots and shrugging on a coat, shoving Harry’s robe towards him. 

“I got everything. Here’s your robe,” Annie says, unable to meet his eyes. She already feels indebted to him, and they haven’t even found Cindy yet. “Thank you for helping me. I’m just… scared,” she confesses, tears starting to well up. She presses her fists into her eyes roughly as if she could stop them from falling. 

Harry just nods, takes the garment, and starts shaking the treat bag. His deep voice carries into the night more than hers did as he walks around, zig-zagging across the snow. Annie holds Cindy’s favorite blanket that resides on her bed and wraps it around her. She follows Harry, both chorusing, Cindy! Cindy, baby! Come back! It’s too cold for you out here!

They walk the perimeter of Annie’s house, keeping to the tree line, when Harry shushes her. He stops in his tracks and listens to the silent night. Faintly, from the direction of Harry’s house, comes a small mewl. He walks briskly over, slowing his movements as he gets closer in order not to scare the small Persian. 

“Cindy? Where are you girl? Come out for your mama,” Harry half-whispers, half-shouts. He’s still shaking the treats lightly, starting to open them. From their right they can hear a crumpling of plastic, a flash of gray shooting out from underneath the collapsed blow-up of Santa on his sleigh. Annie cries out in relief as Cindy comes running towards them at full speed, crashing right into Harry’s legs. He scoops her up swiftly with one hand and holds a treat out to her in his other. 

“You had me so worried, Cindy! I cannot believe you. You want nothing to do with the outside world but decide to run out into the coldest night we’ve had so far! You’re crazy,” Annie half-sobs, holding the cats face in two hands. Cindy shakes the snow out of her fur and licks at Annie’s nose. Harry watches the interaction, feeling something unfolding in his own chest. He gestures for Annie to take her cat, picking long hairs out of his robe.

“I see everything’s all in order here, I’ll just—oh,” Harry lets out a grunt as this peculiar woman collides into his body, cat trapped between the two of them and licking at the pink fuzz surrounding Harry as if she were grooming a kitten. His eyes go a bit wide, arms frozen around Annie while she releases a string of, thank you so much, you have no idea how much she means to me, you didn’t have to do this but you did so I owe you, I’m sorry for what I said that night, I’m sorry about the olive juice, thank you, thank you, thank you, muffled into his chest. His hands find themselves resting on her back, stroking up and down in a means to calm her.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I know what it feels like. I’m glad she was okay,” Harry soothes. Annie pulls away, and a strange longing passes through his heart. He frowns slightly and clears his throat. 

“I’m going to go to bed now, and get this little gremlin inside. Thank you so much, Harry. I really do appreciate it, more than you know,” Annie says, a bit breathless. Snowflakes lay themselves to rest upon her eyelashes, lips pink from the cold and Harry has the innate urge to tuck a piece of unruly hair behind her ear. He blinks, forcing himself out of his head.

“Really, it’s no problem. I’ll be heading in as well. See you soon, Annie,” Harry declares. Annie realizes with a jolt that Harry just said her name for the first time. She’s suddenly overheating, and gives a single nod, holding Cindy tight to her body as she walks up the few steps to her front door. Harry watches her leave, only taking his eyes off her when he can’t see her anymore. He then turns around, looking at the demolition of his lawn. He inhales deep. 

“Fuck.”

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

Harry does a double take when he sees Annie outside his home the next morning, attempting to break apart the large tree branch. 

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

For the remainder of the season, Harry and Annie spend an inordinate amount of time together. From binge-watching their guilty pleasure TV shows to roaming the streets downtown at midnight, sharing the same love for empty places. It seemed as though, somewhere in the universe, a story began to unravel itself.

As the last snowflake melts on the first stem emerging from the soft ground, Harry kisses Annie. He wasn’t even planning on it. It was like second degree murder. He found himself looking at her looking at the bluest sky, the sky looking back at her like it wanted to kiss her as well; so he kissed her first.