#and blue is trapped by his own urge to be good to people

[novemberheart]

{overview} You put your omega instincts to good use. It’s time to face John

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, slight gore, cursing, mentions of death, slight panic attacks, injuries

Chapter 27 <- Chapter 28 -> Chapter 29

You were thankful Johnny knew what to do. You were nothing but a thorn in the side. Your hands gripped onto the back of his T-shirt as he led you around. Anais happily agreed to watch Vernie, squeezing you tightly in assurance.

Your heart sank when he stopped in front of a helicopter.

“Mac, please tell me what's happening,” you pleaded, keeping your voice strong.

“Just need you to be a good omega for me and follow what I say,” he reasoned back. His hand hadn't left the waistband of your pants, and you were beginning to feel sick from the way he moved you around. “Up you go,” he urged, basically lifting you onto the helicopter with one arm.

You needed to get out of your funk. This is what gave omegas a bad name. The inability to respond quickly when in an unknown situation. You would just have to be strong. Interestingly enough your brain repeated Simon's words like a mantra.

“You’re just as brave and stupid as the rest of us.”

Hopefully, you could avoid the stupid. Yet the sentiment didn't go unnoticed. It was just another way Simon was affirming you were a part of the pack. Their pack. You were chosen for a reason.

You were a part of their pack. It was time you started to act like it.

You grabbed the straps yourself before Johnny could buckle you in, strapping yourself in as tight as you could. It caught him a bit off guard, his hands stalling for a moment, before taking his own seat as close to you as he could.

“It’s Kyle isn't it?” you pressed. You had to yell for him to hear you.

“It is,” Johnny affirmed. “He’ll be fine. Nothin’ a little you can't fix,” Johnny soothed.

“You’re getting cocky, Gaz,” John spoke, making Kyle’s lips quirk up into a smirk.

“You find a reason for me not to be, sir?” He shot back. His dress shoes were quiet against the tile floor. If it wasn’t for his voice you wouldn’t even know he was there.

“Enough with the banter, boys,” Laswell sighed. “You two should be home already,” she adde. It caught them both off guard, their bodies tensing and stomach turning. Your face popped into their head. Kyle’s face scrunched as a pang shot through him. “Sorry,” Laswell added, feeling their mood shift. Ever since you, home has been a touchy subject. Sometimes home wasn’t always four walls.

“S’alright,” John spoke, clearing his throat. It had been especially hard for the alpha leaving after what had transpired. While he had made slight amends with you, it was hard to get back into your good graces halfway across the world. John shut his eyes tightly from his spot on the roof. He took a deep breath nearly able to smell the fresh peaches and warm vanilla. He could feel your hands gripping his shoulders and the way your skin molded perfectly against his. He could feel your cheek against his and the giggle that brushed across his ear when his beard would tickle you. He growled low in his throat, his eyes fluttering open.

They needed to get home.

“Got eyes on them?” He spoke, his voice rumbling through the comms. Kyle didn’t say a word. They were close. “Lead them out the back alley if you can,” he kept his voice low.

As if on cue the backdoor opened, two tall men wearing black suits walked out, with two more behind them dressed in perfectly tailored blue suits. John rolled his eyes. Could they be anymore obvious? A woman turned down the alley making John curse. Would be hard to shoot four people with a witness.

“There’s a woman. See if you can steer her away,” John mumbled, eyeing them through the scope. Kyle entered the alley, dressed as a waiter, pointing for the woman to turn around.

“Sorry miss, but we have a delivery truck comin’ in. You’ll be trapped,” He explained, waving his hand.

“That’s alright,” She smiled. Kyle immediately felt his stomach drop his hands moving on instinct as her hand reached to her side. He dodged her, his hand able to get a good grip on the back of her sweater tossing her towards the men. The knife clattered from her hand against the ground. Kyle didn't bother to go for it, the gun tucked into his coat getting the job done quicker. Kyle took out three of them, John taking out the other two.

“Good work,” John praised. Kyle exhaled, ready to begin his trek down the alley before something caught his eye. It was the woman, lying face down against the street.

Her hair matched yours.

She had a similar build. You even had a sweater that same color. It made his stomach turn, his mind easily replacing her with you.

“Kyle?” It was commanding and concerned. “You need to get out of there,” John pressed. Kyle’s body erupted in goosebumps, his feet finally catching up with his brain. He began to walk forward, the urge to look back one last time irrefutable.

“Can't just leave her here,” Kyle said finally. He opened his mouth to continue, but the sight had made him sick. He turned his head towards the trash can, bile rising up his throat. John opened his mouth ready to rip him a new one, yet his words got caught as well. It was like he had forgotten where he was, his brows furrowing at the idea of you being there.

Why were you in the street? He winced, the reasoning behind Kyle’s actions as clear as day.

“She’s at home safe,” John reasoned. He could see Kyle wipe his face with his sleeve and nod.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know.”

“Get out of there,” John repeated. Kyle agreed silently, heading back into the restaurant.

“Fuckin’ over this shit,” Kyle growled, pacing back and forth in front of the alpha. “Another bloody week?” he continued. The alpha’s hands reached out, gripping the back of Kyle’s shoulders.

“The timeline isn't definite,” John reminded, pulling the fired-up man against him. John felt heated against him- a true sign of how equally upset he was. “The more we keep our heads on the quicker we can get home.”

Sometimes home wasn't always four walls.

“Definite? Could be longer then,” Kyle snarled, rolling his shoulders out of John’s grasp.

“What do they expect anyway? They constantly push for every pack to have an omega and then don't make proper adjustments for it. What will we do when she's marked and she marks us? I won't be able to be away from her longer than a month and you’ll only be able to last around two weeks.” Kyle ranted. They had been gone two weeks- now they were expected to be gone for another whole week. It felt longer than that. Each day dragging on like an anchor in the sand.

“They make pills for things like that now,” John sighed, running a hand over his face. His beta was justified in his anger, but it would just be easier to push feelings aside and get the job done. “She’s not home alone either. Johnny’s keepin’ her safe,” he added.

John’s phone went off. He grumbled, digging in his pocket moving towards the door. He acknowledged something, hanging up in one motion. “Get your vest on. We are leaving,” He commanded.

Every minute felt like an hour, every hour felt like a lifetime. You had finally landed in a hospital just outside of Kavala. The helicopter ride hadn’t lasted long and you and Johnny had to hop onto a passenger airplane. It was early afternoon when you had arrived.

At least it was warm. Kyle would appreciate that.

“Garrick, Kyle,” Johnny spoke. The woman at the desk clacked against her computer.

“Not ready yet,” she replied bluntly. “He needs more time,” she explained.

“He’s my beta,” you growled before you could stop yourself.

“Marked him?” She questioned. Your face curled. You could be bonded without marking him.

“She did,” Johnny lied. The woman eyed you both before pushing her rolling chair against one of her coworkers. They whispered to each other looking between the two of you.

“Follow,” she commanded, getting up from her chair. You breathed out, your hand giving Johnny’s a squeeze. The hospital was nice. Not as sterile and cold as the one on base.

You were hot on her heels as she weaved her way through the halls, an evil sounding whine leaving you when she would stop and chat to a coworker. Some people just couldn’t read the room.

She stopped in front of a door and you gripped the handle without permission, nearly pushing her out of the way. You didn’t even notice John sitting in the hallway. You walked into the room, your hand gripping the curtain around the bed.

“Next one,” the nurse corrected harshly. You couldn’t blame her for her tone. He was in the bed closest to the window. A whimper left you as you pulled the curtain back.

“Kyky,” you mumbled, already clawing at your eyes. The blanket was pulled above his shoulders, the skin that was exposed wet and feverish. His face looked the same, besides a scrape against his jaw.

You got to work.

You could already tell his leg was in a cast. You pulled the blanket to his waist. His whole torso was covered in red spotted bandages, his arm in a sling against his chest. You pulled both the room and window curtain back, so he could feel the sun against his skin. That would make him feel better. You went over to a cabinet pulling out the smallest towel you could find, using the water fountain in the hallway to wet it. You still hadn’t noticed the distraught alpha in the hallway. Your distraught alpha. John watched you carefully, the ache in his chest crippling as you went about your business without so much as a glance. He pushed that away. All that mattered was that Kyle got the care he needed. John let himself sink against Johnny as they sat in the hallway. The Scot’s soft blue eyes understanding and assuring.

“I missed you two,” John said finally.

“We missed you,” Johnny affirmed. “She’s been havin’ a hard time sleepin’. Been hard on her, having both her alphas gone,” Johnny sighed.

“You’ve done a good job takin’ care of her,” John said, his throat tightening. “Is she still….” John trailed off. Johnny knew what he was referring to. The Scot pressed his lips against the alpha stiff shoulder.

“I think she still thinks about it. Especially with everyone being away it’s easy to let her mind wander. Being close to you- being reminded of how much you love her will shake any doubts she might have,” Johnny explained. John relaxed. That is exactly what he needed to hear. A lone tear fled from his eye and he rubbed it away with his thumb. One of the most common misconceptions about Johnny was that emotions flew over his head. Whilst the man was brash and impulsive, he felt everything so deeply and he always knew what to say in the aide of others.

You washed as much of Kyle as you could without disrupting him.

He knew you were there.

You could feel it. His muscles twitched, despite the medicine in his system, like something inside him was trying to claw its way out to get to you. You could hear the clatter of shoes against the floor, not paying much mind until then entered the room. It was a nurse, one that you could already tell knew what she was doing. She was an alpha. You could tell by her square shoulders and frown lines.

“You got here fast. That is good,” her accent was strong, but her pronunciation was perfect. She eyed the curtains that had been pulled back and the wet cloth on your hands. “You have strong instincts. That is good, knowing what your beta needs to get better,” she praised. “He has a fractured leg, an overstretched ligament in his shoulder, and multiple lacerations across his abdomen,” she explained.

“How long will he be asleep?” you questioned. While you had heard the information it was like your brain rejected it. You didn't want to hear what had happened, just how you could fix him. Asking how long he would be asleep felt manageable. Something you could prepare for.

“Whenever the anesthesia wears off,” She responded curtly. “For these types of injuries, we recommend keeping as close as possible to him. He needs to know you are here,” she spoke, brushing past you. She pushed down the rail of the side of the bed and pushed a button on the headboard. The bed expanded on the left side and you took a few steps back to allow it some room. “You can sleep here,” she patted the newly extended portion. “I suggest skin-on-skin contact. That may be a little hard due to injuries but it can be something as small as resting your hand here,” she pointed to his rising chest. “There are blankets in the cabinet. You might be tempted to get some softer blankets from the store around the corner, but it'll be best if you’re a little uncomfortable. Your discomfort will heighten his instincts and spur on the healing process,” she reminded, opening the cabinet you had just dug through. “I’ll be back when he wakes up,” she said, not bothering to look over her shoulder.

“Thank you!” you called after her. You sighed, heading for the papery thin sheet from the cabinet. You crawled onto the bed, using it to cover both you and Kyle. You pressed your cheek against his bare shoulder, inhaling deeply. Fresh linen, mixed with a slight salty breeze from his sweat. “I love you,” you mumbled against him. Your fingers brushed against his side and you resisted the urge to throw yourself against him and bury yourself as far into him as you could. You settled for wrapping around his good arm, resting it between your thighs just like he always slept.

It wasn't long before you drifted off to sleep.

John and Johnny entered shortly after, wanting to make sure you had enough time to get settled. John growled at the state of you. Your tired form shaking from nerves and low temperature. Your eyes rubbed raw, and your hair knotted and unkempt. Your cheeks heated from a slight fever. You always got fevers when you were upset. You've probably had one for weeks. He dug into the bag Johnny had brought with him, pulling out one of the blankets he had packed you.

“Ya heard what the nurse sai”-

“Kyle would murder us if he found out we let her suffer at his expense,” John cut him off. “Besides after what he's been through he’ll want to wake up to her being as comfortable as possible.” John tucked you in, making sure the blanket was rolled up to your neck and chin.

“Her jellyfish is next to her socks,” Johnny added. John dug into the bag again, tucking it under the covers with you.

“What happened?” Johnny worked up the nerve to press.

John sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His knuckles brushed up and down your side, adjusting the blanket again.

“Car crash,” John sighed. “He was in a car that was headin’ towards a warehouse. It was intercepted,” He explained through gritted teeth. Johnny grumbled under his breath, adjusting in his seat.

“We know by who?” He pressed. John hummed in agreement.

“I was in the car behind ‘em. It's been handled,” He assured. Johnny stood, gripping the back of the alpha’s neck pulling him against him. John rested his head against Johnny’s stomach, his hand gripping his shirt. Johnny's hands ran up and down his back, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles.

“You’re exhausted. Need to sleep,” Johnny reasoned. He pulled away from him, setting up a small area on the floor for them to sleep. They've slept on worse.

You woke up slowly. The room was dark. Too dark. You whimpered quietly, causing shuffling in the corner.

“You alright?” John rasped. A purr echoed through your body before you could stop it, the sound pure instinct. “Sweet girl,” he groaned, more to himself than anything. A hand rested on the top of your head, dragging down your back, dipping under the familiar softness of your blanket. You tried to remind yourself you were still hurt by him, yet the addicting warmth of his hand against your skin had you melting into the bed. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning forward, his lips pressed against your hairline. “Both did,” he added, pressing you closer to Kyle. You whimpered out, your hands finding their way to his face, his beard tickling against your skin just like how you remembered. His chest rumbled with a sad sound, his face making a beeline straight to your neck, pressing his way between your shoulder and jaw. “I’m sorry I had to leave when I did,” he said softly. His teeth ached being so close to your neck. All he had to do was bite down and you would be his forever. Connected and bound together. He was tempted to do it while you were letting him be so close to you.

“John?” you whispered, your nails digging into his biceps. A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. God, he missed you. He hummed in response, his cheek pressed against yours. “You don't wish I was someone else….do you?” you asked softly. His heart fell into his stomach, a familiar uneasiness falling over him. How could you even think that? “I just don't want you to wish you had picked someone different th”-

A sharp growl cuts you off, your body being pressed further into the mattress.

“Pull your head out of your arse, pretty,” he growled against your cheek. Your eyes widened and you tried to move your head to look at him. “Remember the first time we met? You walked in and the door blew your scent right in my face. Wanted to make you mine right there. One scent, one look, one word and I knew you were mine. Nothin’ll waver that,” his tone was passionate and slightly desperate, offering you no room for disagreement. He had never shown you he had wanted someone else or that he was unhappy with you in any way.

You just needed to hear it from him.

Sorry for the late update! Chapter 29 will be posted in three days! 🧡😊

[a-blind-bat]

GhostLights Event: Blind Date With a Prompt - @dcxdp-ghostlights

and With the Stars as Our Witness

Edit: I forgot the prompts…

Prompts: Fanasty AU | Gala

*~*~*~*~*~*

Danny wasn’t a fan of these galas. He felt suffocated being in a room with so many people. Royals, legends, and the wealthy all gathered in one place for a celebration. The bustling of conversation along with the low buzz of music coming from a band in the corner mixed together to create one sound that bangs at Danny’s ears.

Sam had dragged him and Tucker along with her. She was forced to attend on account of her parent’s wishes and she would be damned if she had to suffer through it alone. Only seventeen minutes into the party, though, Sam got trapped in a conversation with some earl and Tucker was showing off some of his inventions to potential patrons, leaving Danny to try and entertain himself. Irony is a funny little thing. So here he is, awkwardly standing in a corner and trying to drown out his boredom with extremely expensive wine.

He should’ve made up an excuse, acted like there was a life-threatening emergency to attend to. He would rather be fighting a dragon over experiencing this party for a second longer. Even if it was a Wayne Gala, which was always praised to the high heavens, he found the party to not live up to the legend. The head of the house, Bruce Wayne, was easy to spot. He was always crowded around various wealthy participants, all laughing and chatting their heads off. He did not envy Ser Bruce, seeing as he had to interact with so many people. Even watching the crowd made him tired. The longing warmth of his bed filled his mind as he absentmindedly swirled the red wine around in the glass.

A sharp sound of metal repeatedly hitting glass pierces his ears, and he looks up from the pool of red to see an old man dressed in a black suit befitting those in wealthy circles. He was standing on the stairs and tapping a spoon against a wine glass. The crowd quiets down to a murmur as the old man clears his throat.

“I welcome everyone to our humble estate, we are gathered here to celebrate our newest addition to the Wayne linage. "

Right, the whole reason anyone was even here in the first place. The Wayne family had gained another child. Not through birth, but through adoption. Bruce Wayne was famous for picking unfortunate children off the streets of Gotham and adopting them into his luxurious life. This was his fifth…sixth kid? Danny had lost count. The rich really could afford everything.

“Chosen by Ser Bruce Himself, we welcome Duke Thomas,”

A roar of applause filled the ballroom as a person Danny presumed was Duke came walking down the stairs. Danny didn’t know what the new kid looked like. He was expecting another black-haired, blue-eyed, perfect prince archetype, seeing as the rest of the ones that were adopted were similar. But Duke was different.

The whole crowd was quiet except for the band, who played music to accompany Duke’s descent down to the ground floor. His smile was bright and blinding, and Danny could swear there was this light surrounding him, emitting off of him and surrounding him like the wings of an angel. He was dressed in yellow, gold, and black, his outfit befitting one of a prince. Halfway down, Duke’s gaze met Danny’s. The other boy's eyes turned from brown to golden and Danny had this urge to run towards Duke, to hold him and get to know him. It wasn’t a feeling he had ever felt before; it was terrifying.

Duke looked away as he finally reached the ballroom floor. The surrounding guests rushed to greet him and present their own gifts. No doubt a way to buy themselves into the good graces of Duke and Bruce. The old man coughed to gain the attention of the guests once again.

“I know you're all excited to get to know him, and what better way to get to know someone than with a dance!”

The party erupts into a roar as the band starts to play a sweet and romantic melody. Duke is immediately swept into the chaos as the dance floor becomes filled with waltzing couples. Before Danny could think, his feet were carrying him to the dance floor, his eyes fixated on Duke Thomas, who was currently enrolled in a dance with a nice young lady in a peach-pink dress.

As soon as Danny stepped into the dancing crowd, he got pulled into the arms of a young woman in a beautiful red gown. They twirl around a bit and he loses his Duke in the crowd. He looks across the ballroom floor for him as he dances around, eyes darting from one person to the next. He finally spots Duke with a different lady. This one is wearing a glimmering dark green gown, her smile big as they dance around. Duke looks around above the head of the woman and his eyes soften once they meet Danny’s. Duke twirls the lady around with one hand and lets her go, twirling her right into the arms of another lady as he bows to her. Danny lets go of the woman in his arms and bows to her, walking off towards Duke. Duke gets swept up into another dance with a nice gentleman in a fancy blue outfit adorned with jewels. They twirl and twirl before the gentleman spins Duke around with one hand. Once the spin ends, they both bow, leaving Danny an opportunity to finally dance with Duke. Danny felt various tingles shoot up through his arms as his hands interlocked with Duke’s. It was exhilarating. He had never felt this way with anyone before. It was even more strange as he had never seen Duke Thomas before.

Now that Danny is closer, he can get a good look at Duke. Duke’s a little shorter than he expected, maybe an inch or two below Danny. Beauty marks sparsely cover his face and a small scar across his left brow. His brown eyes were no longer brightly golden, but Danny could see tiny gold specks floating around in his dark brown eyes. He was beautiful, and Danny could feel his heart race. His cheeks felt hot and yet he felt as if he was completely at peace.

“Do you ever not stare?” Duke asks, a smile accompanying his question.

Danny laughs. “Don’t act like you weren’t looking for me as well.”

“It’s quite hard to look away from someone who’s glowing green. "

Danny steps back a bit too far and steps on someone’s foot. He quickly apologizes and leans in close to Duke.

“I glow?”

“Do you not know? Your eyes, they shimmer this toxic green sometimes. I was inclined to think you were magic. "

Everyone knows magic users don't receive warm welcomes in the kingdom of Gotham. So being accused of being magic was a big deal. While magic users may not get burned at the stake, there’s still prejudice and if they find out Danny can do magic-.

“I can feel your panic. No need to worry.” Duke’s eyes turn into a shiny golden. “I’m magic as well,”

“Is that why I was so drawn to you?”

“Perhaps, seems like magic souls seek each other out. "

“I just realized you don't know my name. They call me Danny.”

“‘Danny’? I like it, I think it fits you, I’m Duke, you already know that but I still like to introduce myself. "

“It's nice to meet you, Duke. "

They waltz together for what seems like forever. Until Duke speaks up again.

“Do you like stars, Danny?”

“I like the stars, yes,”

“Then I have something to show you if you’ll be so kind as to let me”

Danny nods and Duke slips them both away from the party. He leads the other boy to a balcony, out of immediate sight of the rest of the partygoers. The yellow light of the ballroom pours out onto the balcony, clashing with the dark of the night. The night sky is littered with shimmering stars, the light cast from the bright stars shining down on Duke makes him look like he’s in a romantic painting.

“I rarely like these big parties. When I get overwhelmed, I tend to sneak out here. I thought maybe you would like it. The stars always looked lovely up here. "

Danny loved it, the stars dancing around in the sky. Glowing so bright, so far, yet so close. He looked back at Duke, the stars twinkling in his eyes alongside the golden specks. Duke was lovely.

“You glow as well,”

Duke’s attention switched back to Danny, one eyebrow raised and a worried expression on his face. He looked down at himself, trying to find this glow Danny was talking about.

“I don’t think anyone else can see it. "

“We see in each other what others can not, sounds like a poem to me. "

“You like poems?”

“Sometimes,”

Silence filled the air again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was nice. Danny acknowledged how strange his feelings towards Duke were. They had only just met, not even spending an hour together, and yet he was so drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. It was intoxicating and so free to be in the presence of someone he had never seen before tonight.

“Do you feel it too?”

Duke doesn’t even have to explain. Danny knows what he means. The magnetic pull drew him closer and closer. The glow in Duke’s eyes shows a part of him that no one else knows. The comfort and peace he feels just being near each other. He had never felt anything like this before. It scared him and he wanted to dive headfirst into this feeling. To know more about the magic boy next to him.

"Was afraid you didn't,"

Duke smiled at his answer, and Danny was no longer in a hurry to get home. His bed could wait. And if they shared a kiss that night, the stars would not tell.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Come find me on AO3!

[haeseolar]

where the sky kisses the waters

kinnporsche - merman!porsche

rated G, 2.4k words

twitter / based on this fan art

tw: mentions of kinn grieving and mourning his mother's passing.

----

It isn’t often that Kinn comes to the beach. 

The ocean always reminds him of his mother, who would clumsily walk across the uneven sand in her sandals until she reached the shore, the skirt of her sundress rippling in the wind as she gazed out into the distance. She always felt so far away in those moments, trapped inside her own mind as she watched the waves and felt the cold salt water wash up over her feet. Kinn would be left to stand beside her in silence, having learned that until she snapped out of it, there was no getting through to her.

There were many times Kinn thought this would be their last beach trip where they’d travel all the way from Bangkok in his mother’s car, racing away under the anonymity of night with the sunrise pulling back the veil to welcome them when they reached their destination. Kinn knew his father knew, and his mother knew, too, but it didn’t stop them. Each time, when his mother shook him awake, whispering conspiratorially and shushing him with a finger over her lips and a glint in her eyes, he expected it to be the time they finally left.

It never was time to leave. Not even when Kinn’s mother died, or when Tankhun was too sick to take over as the head of the family, and not even when Kinn went through the worst betrayal of his life. It just never seemed like the right time, or enough to warrant such a decision. And so Kinn stayed, living the life that his father had crafted for him, forcing him to be everything he wasn’t - all for the sake of the family. 

He felt the scorned gazes of a thousand people, all watching and waiting for him to fuck up, to crumble under the weight of their debts and his misdeeds. Everyone relied on him, one way or another, for good or bad reasons, but he had no one to turn to. He was responsible for their lives, their wages, and their futures, and he had the power to end it all or get into a position where it was done for him. Their loyalty knew no bounds, and he saw it, he felt it: the way they’d bow and reverently refer to him as Khun Kinn no matter how nasty he became, or how warped time and stress made him. He’d hear their whispers, reminiscing about the ‘old Khun Kinn’, acting as if he was once their saving grace.

This wasn’t his burden to bear. He knew that. His father knew that. His brothers knew that. But they didn’t hold out a hand, or offer him a lifeline.

As the sun rises on the horizon, the sky and the ocean becoming one, warm hues of reds and yellows changing into cool blues and greens, he understands why his mother would get lost in her thoughts here. 

The ocean air is salty and makes him cringe as he adjusts, but once he’s settled it’s the freshest thing he’s ever smelled. He breathes it in, feeling his lungs expand around the oxygen, the toxins expelling as he breathes it all out again. Kinn allows the wind to carry it away for him, his eyes following a random route as he imagines his worries being taken away and becoming the universe’s problem rather than his. 

There’s nothing sensible in his attire, kitted out in his specially tailor-made suit, his dress shoes hanging on the tips of his fingers by their heels with his socks stuffed inside them. But there’s no one here - no one watching him, or waiting, or relying on him to do anything at all. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt in months, maybe even years.

It’s been so long since he allowed himself to come back to the beach his mother used to take him to and to relish in the sights he’d only ever seen with her by his side. There’s an innate thing inside him that has been tugging him forward, beckoning him towards the beach, a voice in his head telling him that something is there, waiting for him. As the days passed by, the urge got stronger and more powerful until it took over his whole being until this morning, where he couldn’t sleep and finally snuck away to escape and to answer the ocean’s call.

Somehow, it’d been easier than he thought it would.

Where his mother’s ghost follows him with every step, feeling the warm brush of her arm against his, or the gust of wind that blows by sounding like her voice calling out his name, it doesn’t hurt as much as it once would’ve done. His heart pangs, his stomach in knots, but it feels right being here. 

“Mae,” Kinn whispers, just to feel the way it feels on his lips again. It feels foreign, and clunky in his mouth, but it eases the pain in his chest for a moment. A waft of her soft, floral perfume permeates the air, and as soon as he smells it, it’s gone again.

Kinn’s eyes fall closed. He scrunches them up, massaging his temple as bursts of colour and shapes form on the back of his eyelids from the pressure. He’s almost thirty, and here he is, acting like the timid, soft-hearted boy he can never become again. He should go home, turn around and dust off the sand sticking to his feet and in between his toes. He should forget about this for good and move on, just like his father always tells him to.

You’re so stuck in the past that you can’t see what’s right in front of you, Kinn. His father would say, giving him a cold, pitying look as he then would say: Checkmate, leaving Kinn with nothing left on the chessboard to move with.

Kinn ruffles his hair, and then slicks it back again, hoping that the wax he put in it this morning before he left does its job and puts it back into place. Where the cool, salty tang of the morning breeze and the ocean lapping at his ankles was soothing, it’s now too much. Goosebumps ripple across his arms and make him shiver, the shifting granules of sand washing back and forth across his skin are like tiny knives slicing their way through, so he steps back, out of the water’s reach, sinking into the sodden ground as it gives beneath his weight.

One step back, two more, then three, and the sand becomes dry again, warming in the sun that’s drifted higher in the sky. 

He should leave. There’s nothing here for him anymore, nothing but a ghost and an unfulfillable dream. There’s so much more he should do - he should be a filial son, a cold-hearted businessman, and a strong leader.

Kinn sighs, glancing around the area one last time, making peace with as much as he can right now. It’s a small, private area that’s set apart from the main beach by the rocky terrain that surrounds it, cocooning him in with small coves and uneven surfaces. There’s technically no entrance to it, you just have to be brave and curious enough to scale up the dunes and down the rocks. He’s not sure how his mother found this place and the realisation that he’ll never be able to ask her hurts. Because he wants to know. He wants to know how she got here, why she always brought him along and allowed him to share her space when she so clearly wanted to run away from it all. She didn’t have to do any of that, and yet she did. 

But she always took him back. She never would've known that her death would lead to a cold, lifeless house with a traumatised Khun, an angry Kim, a husband and father who lost any form of warmth along with her passing. And Kinn - her dear son, who was lonely and barely keeping his head above water regardless of how much he tried. 

Maybe coming here was a bad idea, after all. 

Kinn turns to leave, the sun warming his back, but then there’s a splash and a chirping noise coming from behind him. 

He glances over his shoulder, expecting a seagull, but instead, he’s faced with a pair of light brown eyes watching him from a few metres away in the ocean. Kinn gasps, twisting and stumbling back as he eventually loses his balance, falling right on his ass. 

The eyes watch him, eyebrows raising in question. Kinn can’t fully see the person they belong to, his head mostly submerged in the water, but he can make out loose, dark curls that stick to his wet skin, some strands floating on the water’s surface. 

“What the fuck?” Kinn exclaims, panic seizing his whole body. He curls his fingers into the sand, taking fistfuls of it to try and steady himself.

The person in the water responds with another sound that suspiciously sounds like a laugh, and begins swimming towards him until the water goes lower and lower, slowly exposing his features and body. The man’s skin is rich and tanned, glowing and reflecting the sunlight. It emits an unearthly glow around him, like a halo, but it only brightens him instead of casting shadows. His features are delicate, pretty, almost feline with the soft curve of his eyes, his nose and the full pout of his lips. They’re so pink, even from this far away, Kinn can still see. He can see how beautiful the man is, how otherworldly he seems, moving through the water like it’s a part of him, the waves gently encouraging him forward as the ocean obeys his every command. 

The curls fall around him as they leave the water, clinging to his skin and droplets cascading down his bare chest. Kinn can’t help but watch the path of one, following it all the way from the point of his chin and down the slope of his neck, down, past the curve of his pecs and the flatness of his stomach, all the way to his - 

Kinn’s breath catches in his throat. 

“You have a tail.”

A beautiful, prismatic blue one. Each scale shifts in colour, an iridescent sheen glossing over them, but they remain varying shades of blue. They go lighter, darker, pastel and deep, royal and fantastical. The man - merman? Kinn’s brain corrects, and comes to a stop, lying on his front with his tail kicked up behind him. The large fin at the end sways back and forth, almost like a cat’s when it’s curious. 

The merman’s head tilts to the side, now propped up on his palm. Kinn’s eyes catch more blue scales winding their way up and around his neck and face, patches of them marking his skin. 

“You don’t remember me?” The merman questions, his voice light and melodic. 

Kinn wants to crawl forward, to lean into it, make the stranger keep talking to him like he’s singing a song that will lull him to sleep. He craves it, his stomach bottoming out, his arms shaking and knees becoming jelly.

“Should I?” Kinn asks in place of that, shoving the urge down. He’s acting on autopilot, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can even think twice about it.

He’s dead. Or hallucinating, or maybe both. 

“Yes,” The merman pouts and Kinn’s heart stumbles, his pulse quickening. “You’re Kinn.”

The way his name is spoken sounds like a poem, a well of feeling and emotions that Kinn could never possibly hope to define, the slight twang of an accent to it, the harshness of the k into the soft, breathy n sound at the end tells a whole story he’s not privy to. But he wants to know. 

“Who are you?” Kinn asks, his voice breaking on the second word.

“Porsche,” he replies, along with an eye roll, as if Kinn was stupid to ask.

“Porsche?” Kinn repeats incredulously, not expecting the name. It sounds too modern, too human, and nothing like what he would’ve guessed a creature he once believed fictional to have attached to him.

Something in Porsche’s eyes changes. His tail stops moving, his posture tensing.

“You really don’t remember,” Porsche says quietly, looking down at his reflection in the low tide.

“I don’t even know what’s going on!” Kinn replies sharply, the dampness of the sand seeping through his trousers and making this whole ordeal even more uncomfortable. “Why - how am I supposed to know you?”

Porsche glances up at him, his expression neutral. But then he smiles. It’s wide, making his eyes crinkle and his flushed cheeks bunch up. His eyes glitter, and the beautiful browns in his irises crescendo around Kinn like harsh waves crashing against the rocks. It completely and utterly disarms him, all the barriers and uncertainty and grief that possess him are lifted away, and the next breath he takes feels like he’s finally above water.

“It doesn’t matter,” Porsche replies, the smile never once dimming despite the anguish in his tone. 

Kinn feels as if all the lights in the world have been shut off, leaving him in pitch-black darkness.

“It does,” Kinn says quickly, finally able to make his limbs move. He crawls forward, not caring that he’s ruining his suit and that seashells and rocks are cutting into his palms as he approaches Porsche. “What if I want to get to know you? Again?”

Kinn stops when the water is up to his wrists and soaking his shins and calves, when he’s within reaching distance of Porsche. He’s even more stunning up close, a feat that Kinn didn’t think could be possible. Porsche looks up at him through his eyelashes, beads of water clinging to the tips of them, cobwebs of dew connecting them all.

He can tell Porsche is assessing him, and he lets him. He allows this stranger, this mythical creature, this Porsche to look at him as much as he wants. He doesn’t care what Porsche sees - if he sees a weak man, a lost man, a lonely man or a desperate man trying to cling to the first thing that sparks something deep inside him. This could all be a trap, a dangerous siren coming to shore in hopes of luring Kinn into the depths with him, but it’s not a shock to him when he realises that he wouldn’t mind that. 

Porsche sighs, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

And then there’s a hand reaching out for him, cupping his cheek, reeling him in until their lips collide and splashes of colour and memories bloom in his brain, filling out the gaps and crevices of things that he’d long lost: a friend, a lover, his Porsche.

[babakiyaga]

First meetings 😳 

"Please don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Stare at me."

I'm actually astonished he even noticed, although I keep my face controlled enough to look mildly interested. Raising an eyebrow I swivel my head so that I'm actually looking him in the face. He stares back in a very cool- Alright, cold manner.

The fact is I wasn't even using my peripheral vision, or side-eyeing him at all. I was using the reflection on a piece of Silver displayed in his office to study him as he talked with a subordinate.

"I can look if I please."

"Why are you here? I know you're not like the other patrons, you're different. You're one of..." He trails off, making some sort of sour face. It's comical how expressive he is actually. "Black Mask's flunkies." I hold my tongue, those words actually make me bristle and I stare at Oswald Cobblepot in contempt. What's worse is he knows he's gotten a reaction out of me for it. I feel like we're playing some sort of fencing game and he's struck a point already.

"I was just headhunting bar keeps and was told this place was back open again. So I decided to take a look myself." I decide to be honest, it's easier this way because it was truly what I was doing. "Nice lie. Why are you really here?" Typical, paranoid crime lord. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead; I gaze back almost piercingly- something I know my eyes are very good at. Yet the fact is he holds my stare and doubles down with his own. It sort of works for him, with his mismatched eyes, one being in a monocle. Except he's more sarcastic about it. I watch his jaw tighten even before he relaxes and suddenly looks more accommodating, that sickly sweet charm people put on when they want information. He even waves his subordinates away so it's just us.

"Well?"

"I told you the truth. I'm here on my own accord to be nosey and take staff if it so pleases me and they agree to it."

"You know who I am, right?"

"Who you were, you mean?"

I take a point this time. I'd like to think I strike him across the cheek for that one, I even let it show on my features by giving an innocent smile. He seethes. But controls his temper all around, which I have to hand it to him- He's no Black Mask, thankfully, but from what I've heard about him and how he did things... I'm just waiting for a temper tantrum I suppose. I'm almost disappointed.

"You're very funny. Haha."

That actually makes me smile genuinely. It's sort of goofy how he said it, maybe I'm not used to dealing with people like him because he's different from other people in this line of business. Perhaps that's why he's stayed alive for so long?

"Listen, I don't care if you're some lackey of this 'Black Mask', what you're doin-"

I cut him off. Men hate that. He's no exception, although now it's him that looks astonished I'd even have the gall to do something like cut The Penguin off.

"I'm sorry Mr... Penguin. I don't know how you want me to address you. Anyways, this is not the same Gotham as when you left it, which I know you're fully aware of. I think it's been... 10 years now? You were in Blackgate for a while and power has shifted. I know you have some still loyal to you, obviously, when you got out of prison you had a driver ready for you. Very sweet. But there are a lot more players on the Chessboard now."

"Oswald."

Huh? I look taken aback by his simple reply.

"You can address me by my first name, Oswald."

This feels like a trap and I'm quiet as I study him, again we just look at each other. It's almost maddening. I've never felt so riled up by anyone except maybe Roman, but that was a given because of who Black Mask was and how we've had past. But this... This new guy... The Penguin was different.

"No... Anger because I cut you off?"

"It was rude but what you lack in manners doesn't deter me."

That's a point for him but I don't mind because the way he responds is hilarious to me now. What a funny little man.

"You're sort of cute." I respond.

My words are so out of the blue I think I actually stump him. In fact, I think I can see something like color on his pale cheeks and nose, but mostly I can see something not-so-nice lurking in his expression now. How exciting.

"Miss...?"

"Sophie."

"Miss. Sophie, I'm sure this has been entertaining for you, but I'm not above-"

"Killing me?"

"Stop interrupting me!"

That actually gets a physical reaction- He pounded his fist once on his desk, while his facial features sort of do an interesting twitch. He's holding back desperately I think, maybe he's had anger management or maybe he's just trying to be a gentleman for now.

"Maybe I should just get rid of you right now so I don't have to worry about the future? Hm? I'm sure Black Mask won't cause a whole war over one of his little lackeys dying."

"You're wrong."

"What?"

"First of all you make the mistake I'm easy to kill off, insulting. Second of all you really don't know who or what I mean to Roman Sionis. Actually what anybody does. I could be his driver and if you off'd me he'd simply start something- He's... He's sort of spoiled. He doesn't like his things to be toyed with or destroyed, and no offense, you aren't exactly in a whole lot of power like you used to be. So you're sort of a sitting duck... Er, Penguin."

I'm not being mocking, I'm not even being antagonizing now. I lean back in the chair across from him as he takes in what I said because I'm all honest and open at this point.

He doesn't answer right away and instead, I can see the gears in his head turning. The mental gymnastics of this man must be a gold medal winner I'd like to think, because it's true he defiantly does not have the Empire like he used to. But in the short amount of time he's been released from Blackgate he's done enough to garner attention from several big players. Black Mask is one of them.

"So what, are you warning me? Were you sent here as a message?"

"You're not listening. I came here on my own, nobody knows, and I did it because I felt like it. However, sure, yes, you could take what I said to you as a warning about how Black Mask works. Well, just one of the ways he works. It's free information for you because I think you're cute."

His jaw tightens and a flash of warning is in his eyes at my last comment. But otherwise, he keeps himself in check before looking away; he glances away and towards a large outside-facing window. The view his office has is actually very nice, Gotham's skyline is illuminated by an almost full moon tonight.

"Alright, Miss. Sophie-"

"Just call me Sophie."

"Sophie. Exactly who are you?"

Something drops in the pit of my stomach. I think he's won the fencing game and turned this into a Chess game now. Something I've never wanted to be a part of, have always avoided, but now unintentionally became a pawn by just coming here tonight. The Chessboard and game that is Gotham were made for big players: Black Mask, The Penguin, up comers even like this 'Two-Face' Harvey Dent, and not to mention the Mafia families and the different secret societies. I've been lucky, or unlucky, enough to fall under Black Mask and just be tasked with taking out the garbage for him long as I'm loyal. But I think I messed up by speaking with The Penguin.

Do I be honest?

"I'm a bar owner over in Black Mask's territory; it's called The Temple. It's Greek themed but modern, I do good revenue."

The way he studies me is annoying, it's annoying even more how I feel affected by him. I've been around long enough to learn to never let anyone get to me, even Roman. Yet here is this stupid... Slightly round, pale, man getting on my nerves.

"You know what?" His voice is like a clear bell, but the bell that tolls when someone has died. "I think it's very nice to meet you."

I see tonight might be long.

[active-hoper]

Attaining Comfortability in My Own Skin: The Personal Significance of My Main Battle Team in DRAGON BALL: Sparking! ZERO

Warning(s) for: topics pertaining to genocide and suicide, and spoilers.

Tapion - Shame

Tapion, a pale warrior with a red mohawk and sheathed sword on his back dressed primarily in orange and dark-colored attire, stands, playing his enchanted ocarina with a solemn yet troubled expression on his face, in the "City Ruins" map on the character selection screen.

Part of me believes that I deserve death day in and day out as a consequence of routinely succumbing to the feeling that I can cause, and have caused, no more good than harm. A boon for processing this struggle of mine is Tapion's inner tribulation being akin to it.

Faced with the eradication of their people, warriors Tapion and Minotia, Tapion's younger brother, had no choice but to have the split essence of Hirudegarn, an ancient evil that was rampaging across their home planet, be imprisoned within them using enchanted ocarinas after its weakened self was sliced in two with a horizontal slash. The costs of this decision were imprisonments of their own in enchanted music boxes that were sent into space, far away from their place of birth, and each other. Though tragic, such fates were welcomed by the two brothers for the purpose of keeping the genocidal supremacists responsible for Hirudegarn's return from reawakening it again. Unfortunately for them, their fates would not play out as intended.

Years later, the sole-remaining supremacist kills Minotia, freeing one deadly half of Hirudegarn, and manages to release Tapion with the help of DRAGON BALL's unsuspecting main characters on Earth, destroying his music box in the process. The evil within Tapion is then soon completely released and able to rejoin with its other half. As it threatens to eradicate yet another world's people at its full power, an exhausted Tapion can only watch while others who would fight to protect the Earth are beaten down. Eventually, he regains his energy and uses his enchanted ocarina to re-trap Hirudegarn. Knowing that he does not have much time before he loses any strength he has left, he urges the young incarnation of the third teammate in this piece, whom he came to see as a second younger brother, to kill him so as to spare the world and those around him from further harm.

Before a decision can be made, Hirudegarn ultimately breaks free again. But, the Earth's fighters find a way to defeat it, sparing Tapion from an early end. Tapion displays a positive demeanor as he departs from Earth's fighters after this battle's end, yet my resonance with him still lies with his pain, the pain that he experienced and caused, inadvertently or not. Reflecting on pains of those ilks in Tapion's and my life spawns overwhelming shame at having failed at being as good a person as initially desired. Within that shame, however, is also a call, a call to be stronger and more hopeful so that the pain I cause and the effects of the pain caused by others are mitigated in the future.

Bergamo - Acceptance

Bergamo, a blue and white wolf-like bipedal character wearing a red scarf, brown pants and boots, bandages on his arms, and a "Tetsuya Nomura" number of belts on his boots, waist, and arms, stands in the "Tournament of Power Arena" map on the character selection screen.

For a time, I wished to have a small, tight-knit group of friends with whom I could achieve greater feats. I had not fully understood why my yearning for that ended until familiarizing myself with the story of Bergamo, a survivor in a seemingly doomed universe who takes down anything and anyone standing in his way to keep him and his two younger brothers alive. His nature comes to a head when his small-scale selflessness and destructive desires contribute to the (temporary) erasure of his universe in a deadly tournament hosted by the kings of the omniverse to test if mortals can be better than they are presently.

Lacking the ability to see the value of those outside of his family and ambition, Bergamo loses himself in survival mode, something I am accustomed to due to abuse and the PTSD from that, both of which have made me feel that I must shy away from the facts I am gay, disabled, and a furry - the last of which playing as Bergamo helped me to accept - to protect myself.

Maybe admitting the existence of a connection to a character like him is the first major step I have taken toward accepting my identity, which I have mostly rejected up until this point. In doing so, it seems a slow-transforming wish to instead have a general sense of community as my individuality remains unaffected by bias and pressures to conform has finally been put into proper action.

Future Trunks - Righteous Perseverance

Future Trunks's Dragon Ball Super incarnation stands in the "City (Evening)" map in his Super Saiyan form on the character selection screen with blonde, spiky hair pointed cleanly in different directions as he wears a blue Capsule Corp.-branded jacket with a sheathed sword hung around his chest and back; slightly-ripped black pants, green-yellow boots with black toe caps, and a red bandana around his neck.

Future Trunks is an inspiration to me. He used to live in a timeline where many people on Earth were irreversibly killed in droves on one occasion and nearly completely annihilated on another at the hands of world and multiverse-ending threats, respectively. Despite this all, he continued to fight for his and their survival, as well as for the creation of a better life for everyone, and he continues to do so in a new timeline, even after his previous one was destroyed. All this is to say that a fighting spirit such as his is especially worth adopting in this day and age.

This leads me into how, at the time of this post's release, it appears that Donald Trump will become the forty-seventh President of the United States. I and many other individuals around the globe who are also not considered the norm will likely experience tougher lives because of this bigoted monster's re-election. His re-election carries the threats of continuations of the deadly precedents he has set with his hateful, vile rhetoric and delusional policies from his first term; as well as the empowerment of the selfish, ignorant following that he has cultivated. As you could have guessed, none of that is to say that things are over. There are and will always be chances to fight back together, to keep this world from meeting a grim fate, and to thrive, not merely survive.

[simmetrycal]

that’s what i like ༉‧₊˚.

synopsis

a glimpse into chantelle and oaklynns relationship, accompanied by ash who’s got nothing better to do than to third wheel.

word count: 5.7k wow

a/n: i just be writing! (not proofread) ((asher solace of solace enterprises is my very best friend))

chantelle tapped her foot against the glossy marble tiles in front of the cafe “Little Dove”. for a coffee shop that is owned by and literally on the second floor of the company, the service still isn’t quick enough. and the coffee itself is mediocre at best. there was a line of about seven people in front of chantelle, all waiting to pick up their drinks.

chantelle knew all of the employees in front of her. some worked in the call center, some in finance, some in marketing. even a fellow secretarian. she looked around, more of her colleagues at the tiny tables with their laptops and cups.

she noticed hans working silently to himself before agnes comes up to him. they spew insults at each other, aiming to offend and hurt.

the scoop on agnes and hans is always fresh on everyone’s ears. their drama never ceases— the rivalry still and perhaps always will be a flame that never goes out. it isn’t a romantic flame at all, don’t get it twisted, they fight because they’re after the same person.

rahim abboud. he’s from syria and he’s in tech support. he’s probably the funniest guy chantelle’s known at the company (don’t tell ash.) everytime she has trouble with hers or ash’s computer, he’s there. he does a silly accent to mock stereotypical tech support scammers, who tend to also be brown men.

none of which look like him of course— rahim had a smile that makes crowds literally buckle at the knees. his chiseled jaw and perfect skin and hair could also be that of a model. he almost looked a little too handsome in chantelle and ash’s opinion. though, he did own quite a nice mercedes.

hans o’neil is absolutely nuts for him. he’s not allowed to have water on his desk anymore on account of how many times he’s “spilled it” on his computer just so he could call rahim to him. agnes does the same shit only with the marketing teams phones and answering machines.

point is; they both fight over him like he’s a piece of meat and they’re starving hyenas. the two are always at each others throats.

like right now.

“run out of dry shampoo, grease trap?” hans snides at the auburn haired woman who was across his little cafe table. chantelle pursed her lips closed as she tried not to laugh, moving up in the pick up line.

“oh yeah you’re one to talk, you probably used it all on your dry ass white hair.”

agnes’ comebacks weren’t super great but she spits them with such venom that it’s enough to be hurtful.

everyone used to think hans has albinism but it turns out he’s just very, shockingly platinum. he reminds chantelle of those beautiful white hares with the red eyes. anyhow, agnes’ comment flew right past hans as he pretended she didn’t exist anymore. the classic ‘out of sight, out of mind’.

she interpreted that as her winning, so she sashayed away confidently with a hair flip over her shoulder and a “hmph!”

someone cleared their throat in front of chantelle, surprising her. she was at the wooden counter, finally.

“good morning, what can i get you?” a blue haired individual with a visor and apron asked.

“morning, pick up order for chantelle?”

the barista’s eyes widened. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! you’re chairman solaces’ secretary! let me get that for you right away!” they scrambled around, looking for the order for their utmost superior- hoping this wouldn’t get them fired.

chantelle politely urged them it was no rush, even though the more she thought about it, she realized she’d been in this long line for about thirty minutes now. the barista came back with a paper bag and a drink holder.

chantelle tipped and took the bag that had her boss’s bagel and the drink holder, making her way back up the elevator, away from the pity little dove establishment this company owns.

right as she got in and the doors were about to close, she saw hans running up to her with his closed laptop and to-go cup, his blue-strapped lanyard dancing with his jogs.

she stuck a foot out to stop the door sensors to let him in.

“phew! thank you.” he says breathlessly to chantelle before using his knuckle to press the floor number he was on his way to. floor 29, finance.

“good morning, hans.” she replies gracefully. chantelle and hans have gotten to be better acquaintances now that ash has been barking up raymond’s tree about the whole mystery girl situation. ash and her have frequented the finance floor more these past few weeks than ever.

“can you believe that trifling skank?” he runs a hand through his perfectly neat and short powder white hair.

“pardon?”

“agnes thinks she’s hot shit. but really she’s just a dirty bitch.” hans rolls his eyes and sips his warm drink.

“mhm, tell me about it.”

“oh! i’ll tell you about it!”

chantelle chuckled, she was merely playing along but she knows this shorter boy is about to open a can of drama in this elevator. who was chantelle to be opposed to hearing it? so she avidly tuned in.

-

at her big, beautiful mahogany desk, chantelle ate her breakfast burrito and checked her emails, waiting for ash to return from his meetings.

many people assume ash goofs off all day, and while that is partly true, he does actually maintain his duties of a chairman. he keeps up with all his responsibilities and he attends all the mandatory meetings.

she knows he’s upstairs in the board’s conference room playing one sided footsies under the table with the unsuspecting ceo (who is always being replaced). he calls all the chair members “The Bored” instead of the board. it makes chantelle laugh.

she took another bite of her burrito whilst looking at her itinerary for the day. her heart warmed when she saw a particular reminder.

today is her and oaklynn’s four year anniversary!

this morning she stopped by jerichos place because the two had a family night there yesterday. it was a bit of a drive but she didn’t mind. she delivered yellow tulips to a groggy jericho as apparently the princess was still getting her beauty sleep. chantelle couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she got in her car and came to work.

tomorrow was a national holiday, so no work and her and oaklynn were going to make the absolute most out of it. they had reservations to go to a lavish new italian restaurant “Casa Bellissima” which took months to get a spot.

she texted ash the other day saying thank you. it was him after all who pulled some strings for them to get a reservation for tonight.

then after dinner, they were going to the movies to catch challengers again. oaklynn was extremely excited but chantelle, after seeing it once, was simply only going for the sake of her happy girlfriend.

and finally, at chantelle’s apartment tonight, they both know exactly what sort of late night activity they’d do. eager to go for however long they want and sleep in the next morning.

chantelle snapped out of her rose colored daydreaming when she heard the familiar ding of the elevator.

“good morning, sir.” she stood up and greeted, watching him make his way to the giant doors to her right- his office. he didn’t notice her at first and changed his resting face to something high energy.

“oh my gosh! i had no idea you were here yet!” he said excitedly, knowing it’s her big day. but like a dog, he spotted treats, “is that for me?”

ash hurries over to her desk to grab his bagel and frappe, setting down the heavy binder that was in his hands. it was surely filled with new tasks wayne gave him at the meeting.

sometimes chantelle didn’t speak until spoken to, and ash knew this. a trait about her he was desperately trying to bend, even after all these years. he does this by asking her as many questions as he can.

“how do you feel?”

“good,” she says simply. “really good.”

his face warms with a genuine yet goofy smile. “yeah? did you see oaklynn this morning?”

“well, i tried to go see her but she wasn’t home. then i remembered it was family night so i went to her cousins house and she was still sleeping. i delivered some flowers.” she blushed. hard.

“awwwe!! that is too cute!” ash gushed, leaning over to mess up her hair. something she hated.

her blonde bob was back, per ash’s request. he loves choosing her hair and as a white man, he feels like he’s apart of something bigger.

chantelle always lets him and she’d never tell him it’s not doing what he thinks it is. at least, not again— she told him once.

“the black community is not going to give you a medal for knowing these hairstyles.” she blurted once when ash said something about her getting goddess faux locs for her next hair appointment.

he was sad and didn’t come out of his office all day out of embarrassment. chantelle ended up getting her hair done on company hours to come back and surprise him at the end of the day with the exact style he was talking about. it occurred to her then that ash was actually fashion saint and knew what he was doing. she never doubted his advice ever again.

he was overjoyed and gave her a big hug. he even took pictures of her because of how lovely he thought she looked. later they went on her instagram.

chantelle smoothed out her shiny bob that ash just ruffled, laying her hands down over it repeatedly.

ash giggled and made his way to his big office with a cityscape view. chantelle followed in suit with a clipboard of his printed schedule.

she noticed he had a meeting today in 45 minutes with finance’s director. wondering if it was actually to see reports or to have another chitchat with raymond.

“oh! guess who i ran into today,” she starts.

ash sits in his spinny chair and turns to look at her with surprise. “who?” he was probably expecting something crazier than she was about to say, palming a fidget toy.

“hans.” she explains, handing him a tiny paper cup of water and his adderal pill.

he downed it in a second and tossed the cup into a little trash receptacle. “oh. oh…! did he have anything to say about agnes?” ash is hilariously obsessed with the whole hans-agnes-rahim love triangle. it’s been going on for a while too.

“did he! oh my lord,” chantelle chuckles and takes a seat on the opposing couch to tell her boss everything hans spilled in the elevator earlier.

all about the weekend lake party that marketing threw to celebrate their new manager. the funniest part to chantelle was the fact that the team fully didn’t invite the manager.

she laughed hard when hans explained it. apparently the guy is old and grumpy and wouldn’t approve of a party. but the team threw one anyway for morale.

anyhow, agnes invited rahim and in turn rahim brought along hans. it was a shit show, hans said. but the lake was absolutely stunning. he recommended it to chantelle.

(i’ll write the lake shit show separately)

˚ · .

“what time is your reservation again?” ash said as he watched chantelle clock out. he clocked out himself twenty minutes ago but he likes to walk her to her car when she parks outside down the street. the sun will set soon and he doesn’t like women walking alone in the city.

why she doesn’t just park in the underground garage baffles him.

“uh, at like 9:30.” she looks at her watch. it was four hours til.

“i was thinking..” he says, hesitating because he doesn’t want her to freak out. “hear me out.”

“..okay?”

“can you and possum come with me to visit the lake?” he refers to oaklynn as “possum” because he thinks she looks exactly like one.

she scoffed and clicked auto start when they got close enough to her camry. “why?”

ash tsked. explaining how sad and lonely and bored he is, and that the idea of going to the lake told by hans retold by chantelle sounded intriguing.

it’s true. lately he really has been sad and lonely and bored.

especially lonely.

caroline, a friend of a friend invited to one of ash’s parties, got tangled up in bed with him. ash, abandoning his celibacy, fell for her hard after mere days of them getting to know each other.

she wasn’t into relationships but ash didn’t get the message right away. not until she had to spell it out for him. needless to say he ended things, despite being completely head over heels over her. he can’t allow himself to fall more in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way.

he’s called many of his girlfriends and boyfriends “the one”. caroline was no different. he heals and copes in his own way and soon enough, the ash we all know and love will bounce back.

chantelle knows all about ash’s recent heartbreak. he won’t shut up about it, at least not for the next week or so. and he’s been filling up his schedule 24/7 so he doesn’t have any time to linger on emotions. which, granted, is unhealthy to do.

chantelle thought about it for a moment as she got in her car and rolled down the window to look at him.

“fine. but only for an hour. and pick us up.”

ash moved aside her pointed, manicured finger in his face with a wave and laugh. “you have my word.”

˚ · .

the lake was huge and beautiful and vast, just like hans made it out to be. much more vast than any of them thought.

the half hour drive there was pleasant too, ash played music he knew is favorite lesbians would love. he brought chairs and firewood and swim trunks. hoping he could speedrun all his fun in the short hour deadline chantelle gave him.

he parked and the girls got out, taking a look around. it was getting pretty dark already and with darkness came the cold.

surely, the lake had cooled down to a temperature that none of them would like, but it didn’t stop ash from zooming past chantelle and oaklynn with light speed toward the water. he ran onto the wooden platform and jumped dramatically in.

ash surfaced immediately, comically freezing. if it were a cartoon he’d be blue and icy, bobbing in the water with his teeth chattering.

“jesus!” he yells, swimming around to try to get used to it but the water was just too nippy. oaklynn was cackling at the whole scene but chantelle was just irritated.

she went back to his car to find the foldable chairs and brought them out. placing them upright in front of a firepit.

she chuckled but it was more of a scoff— even outside of work chantelle found herself assisting her boss. she also brought ash’s towel and laid it out on a chair to get warm by the fire oaklynn began to make.

oaklynn is very outdoorsy. she used to be a girlscout and her favorite hobbies are hiking and mushroom picking. not to mention she’s a florist.

ash tried swimming around for at least a few more minutes but before he knew it, he was running out, frigid and shaky. he darted to his fluffy blue towel that was warm and cozy and started to smell like campfire smoke. he wrapped it around himself and sat down with satisfaction and comfort.

“knew that wasn’t a good idea.” oaklynn said with a giggle at ash.

“what.. do you.. mean? i.. had.. so much.. fun!” he said between teeth chatters, his cheeks and eyelashes glistening with drops.

they all chatted there around the fire for a good amount of time. well, chantelle was mostly silent while her chatty girlfriend conversed with her boss.

oaklynn and ash are well adjusted friends now, they’re past all the formalities. ash used to talk so much about professional subjects like work and networking and whatnot, but he dropped the act once he realized oaklynn wasn’t for it.

she’s into genuine, real conversations about things like hobbies and shared experiences. her storytelling is unmatched, going on and on about every little detail about childhood or trips or mishaps. the way she can entrance and keep someone on the edge of their seats, eager to hear her next words, was something chantelle wished she had more of in her.

ash developed love for the two being together and would be absolutely heartbroken if they ever broke up. more heartbroken than either of them maybe.

once ash was dry and clothed again, he got out skewers and a pack of hotdogs from the trunk.

“did you bring buns?” chantelle asks, looking around and seeing just the skewers and sausages.

ash was speechless, his mouth hung open a little as he remembered he completely forgot to bring the hotdog buns he left on the counter.

“um..”

“of course you didn’t.”

“hey..” oaklynn says, extending her little hand out to touch chantelle’s shoulder. “it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“yeah tellie don’t worry about it!”

something about ash, especially when he called her that, made chantelle even more irritated. she looked at the time on her phone.

8:01 pm

she tsked and tried her best to remain unaffected. “we should probably head back soon.”

“nah,” ash says, also noticing the hour. “we have plenty of time! here, let’s make these weenies!”

ash loves hotdogs. even when they don’t have a bun or chilli slathered all over it, he still enjoys them. but often times, he drops them. if the floor or counter is his own, he’ll 5 second rule it. but, here, on this sandy, dirty earth floor, he doesn’t risk it.

one fell after another, making oaklynn lose her shit from laughing at him across the fire. the hotdogs covered in dirt and twigs and soot rolling away from him on the ground took her out.

his fourth hotdog dropping was chantelle’s breaking point.

“just fucking-“ she grabs the pack of hotdogs from him, rips open the plastic, and stabs a skewer through one. handing that to him before she stormed away to sit in the car by herself.

…“what’s got her so worked up?” was the last thing she heard distantly from ash’s mouth to her girlfriend as she slammed the door shut. it irritated her even more.

“i-“ oaklynn says, turning to ash from staring at the car. she had no idea if chantelle is looking back at them, the windows are tinted probably an illegal amount. they’re completely opaque black. “i don’t know. she’s never usually like this.”

“everything ive been doing since we got here has pissed her off. i mean, this morning she was so happy.”

oaklynn shrugs, worried about her girl. after all it’s their anniversary, you’d think she’d be super joyful and laid back today. but, come to think of it…

“do you remember last year?” oaklynn asks ash, recalling their last anniversary. ash wasn’t present of course but he knows what happened.

one of chantelle’s brothers showed up at her place asking her if he could stay with her. he isn’t the best person, though. his lifestyle is extraordinarily different than hers. chantelle, strong and intelligent and passionate, found her way in life by hard work and honesty. her brother jamal however, has gotten by with many.. many cut corners. he’s no stranger to the streets and he’s been on parole more times than you can count on one hand.

chantelle didn’t know how to react when she opened the door to jamal. he just stood there, chin up acting like he wasn’t in desperate need of her help. acting like a thug even though chantelle knows deep down he isn’t one. she’s known him so well ever since they were little.

oaklynn was in the kitchen at a barstool, unbeknownst to what was going at the door. she didn’t even know who was there. one moment, her girlfriend is cooking a loving homemade brisket dinner for her, the next she’s yelling at someone behind a heavy, shut front door.

when she came in again, her older brother trailed behind her, following her into the nice apartment.

“wow.. this what you been doing away from home?” he said, his way of complimenting. “you makin a bag, huh?”

she never responded. not wanting to even remember her old life with her family in miami.

“oaklynn,” she cleared her throat, looking anywhere but her girlfriends eyes. “this is jamal, my brother.”

“what’s good?” he says, giving her a head nod instead of a handshake, even though oaklynn tried greeting him with one. her pale hand dropped to her lap when she realized he wasn’t going to extend his.

the whole night chantelle was tense. nothing happened, but she still cut the food with frustration. still eyed the door like some other man she used to know would walk in. the stress displayed on her face the whole time they ate their anniversary dinner. which was odd, because the year prior they did the same thing but they were excited and happy and free. oaklynn swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed away the mere idea of the tension being related to their relationship. she was and is and forever will be in love with the woman that is chantelle.

jamal’s presence brought chantelle’s entire mood down, replacing her fluffy white cloud with a dark, rainy one. despite it all oaklynn still kissed her goodnight when the two parted, and she told her how much she loved her. how much she’ll always love her- stressed out and all.

ash bit his lip as they talked about it. feeling like an asshole. this was their day, and while oaklynn certainly doesn’t mind company, it’s apparent that chantelle does. he gave her his word that it would only be one hour.

she was being kind and polite coming here with him because of how alone he’s been, but the way he prolonged their hour into now two hours was wildly inconsiderate of him.

he dug around in his athletic shorts pocket for his keys. after finding them he clicked the button, starting his car from all the way over by the fire.

only, it didn’t start.

that’s odd..

he’ll start it when they pack up and put the fire out he guesses. but once they’ve done that and theyre all packed into the audi, his start button just won’t turn the engine over.

he kept pushing it and the car sounded horrible.

“wait right here.” he says and exits the car, coming up to the front to pop the hood.

when he does he realizes he has no fucking clue why did that. he knows absolutely nothing about engines. nothing about what he’s looking at. the whole reason why he bought a luxury german car was so that he didn’t ever have to worry about the engine. it’s meant to be reliable.

but at the end of the day. it’s a car. it’s not never going to break.

oaklynn comes out and quietly stands beside ash. they’re silent for a moment while he pretends like he knows what he’s looking at, his hands planted on his hips like a concerned father.

“..should i call jer?” she says after a long moment of them staring at the engine.

“your mechanic cousin?”

oaklynn nods, “mhm! he actually lives outside of town too so he’s in the area.”

ash bit the inside of his cheek after he agreed. he’s never met jericho but he’s heard about him. oaklynn has tried to get them to come to a few of ash’s parties but he never showed up.

“i’ll call him,” oaklynn says as she pulls out her phone, walking away to get a smidge of privacy.

ash shuts the hood and sighs, thinking of this mystery mechanic.

if all goes well, maybe ash could become this jericho guys’ new regular. he had a tiny crack in his windshield he was hoping to get fixed soon, that’d be a good opportunity for a potential return.

oaklynn came back, crunching the gravel with her yellow flip flops. she told ash he was on his way and will be here in a few minutes with tools.

“he must be quite the gentleman. i’ll have to pay him generously.”

“oh don’t bother,” she waved it off. “they won’t accept any money, especially if the situation has anything to do with me.”

“doesn’t except money huh?” ash wiggled his brows. “i’ll have to pay him in another way.” he joked, pushing his tongue to his cheek and moving his balled up hand back and forth.

oaklynn laughed her cheeky, loud laugh and slapped his arm playfully at him mocking a blowjob. “you fucking freeeakk!” she yelled.

ash squinted with his smiles and held his arm, acting like her short frame could ever do any real harm to him. in fact he barely even felt her slap at all.

he noticed oaklynns grin fade away and he followed her line of vision. it was chantelle- she was out of the car and walking to the lake in frustration.

the time was 8:38, they’d surely miss the reservation and have to give up their table. not to mention it would set back the time they set aside to go to the movies.

“you should go talk to her.” oaklynn says.

“what? no, she doesn’t want to deal with me right now, i can tell. you go possum, you’re her partner.”

“ash.”

he turns to look at her, prying his eyes away from chantelle’s moody silhouette at the lake. “yeah?”

“go.”

it didn’t take much convincing, plopping his jingly keys into the little hand of the woman beside him. as he walked up to his assistant he heard the sound of a car pulling up on the gravel.

it took everything in him not to just ditch chantelle and run up to the gorgeous, glossed, blacked out car with a wing that just arrived. he didn’t even know what kind of car it was. he had to force himself to turn his head away as a boy in a black hoodie stepped out to greet their cousin.

right now, his focus was chantelle, and nothing else. he willed the world to fade away around them so he could comfort her. because at the end of the day, she was not only his secretary but his real friend.

it didn’t look it though with the way she glared at him through wet lashes. “what?” she grunts, keeping her composure the best she could.

“i’ll get you another reservation at casa bellissima.”

she doesn’t reply.

not even after a few minutes. ash struggles to find the right words, getting distracted every other second because he so desperately wants to look behind him and see this mysterious mechanic cousin of oaklynn’s hook up jumper cables to his audi. he oh so wishes he could help.

“it’s not about the restaurant.” she finally speaks, waking him out of his daze.

“what’s up then?”

chantelle sighs. “i just wanted this night to go perfect. to spend time alone with oaklynn..” she says, gesturing her hands.

“the way i see it,” he treads carefully, knowing he isn’t the best with reassuring words. “this night hasn’t been so bad. i mean yeah my car died but you’ll still get to go home with her. look, we’re saved.” ash motions to jericho. “you’re not stuck here with your obnoxious boss all night.”

“you’re not obnoxious,” she replies with a slight laugh.

“don’t lie,” he chuckles back, skipping a smooth stone perfectly across the lake. it goes for nine jumps.

he hands another smooth one to chantelle. hers only skips for two jumps before failing and drowning down to the bottom.

another sigh escaped her, this time more relaxed. “i was.. going to propose tonight. i have the ring on the dresser next to the dress i was going to wear.”

ash’s jaw drops and he finds her hand immediately, squeezing it. “oh my god, are you serious?”

she smiles and her free hand goes up to her teary, mascara ruined bottom lashes.

ash wipes them for her with his thumb. “i’m so sorry, i would have never kept you guys like this if i had known.”

“i know, i know.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“because..” she looks at the lake again and takes her hand away from his loving yet tight grip. “i know how you are. you’re going to want to pick my hair and pick my ring and pick everything. sometimes i just have to tell you after it’s all said and done because that way.. you’re happy for me with no conditions.”

“i’m always happy for you, chantelle.” he shakes his head and shuts his eyes. “god, im so sorry and you’re right. i know i unintentionally micro manage.”

“it’s in your nature, you can’t help it.”

it’s silent for a moment before she restarts. “that was rude- i didn’t mean it that way. i meant to say i would never ask you to change. you’re yourself, and i love you, asher.”

he swallowed and laughed as he realized a tear fell down his cheek. “i’m supposed to be comforting you, girl. come here.”

he pulled chantelle into a movie-scene like hug. it was long, and warm, and strong. only pulling away so that ash could scrub his face- getting rid of his teary eyes so he could walk up this gravel with chantelle and meet this guy.

“she’ll say yes, by the way. i know it.” he whispers.

as they walked up, ash’s heart took a nose dive straight to his dick after seeing oaklynn’s cousin, completely taking him out of the warm, platonic moment just shared second ago.

he made a noise to which chantelle got startled by. it was like a shocked gasp-laugh.

“how long has oaklynn been concealing this absolute stud muffin?!” he whisper shouted to her. chantelle just hit his arm, her way of silently telling him “shut up!”

“hey!” jericho waves, one of his hands wearing a black rubber glove, the other bare. “sick a4 you have here, what’s her name?”

ash winces in embarrassment. “name?”

“don’t you name your cars?” he smiles. ash feels himself fold at the sight.

“n-no.. should i?”

“absolutely. this is cobra, for example.”

oh my god, ash thinks. it’s even cooler up close. there’s a few dents in the body but since it’s black it’s hardly noticeable. the shape was so fluid and compact and looked vastly different from his own, heavier sedan.

“what is it?” he wonders out loud, taking it all in.

“a ‘95 rx-7. she’s a little dinged up,” jericho rubs the roof of it lovingly, it’s definitely his daily. “you should see my supra, it’s a beast.”

this guy is totally carsexual. he’s got more than one? and ash has no clue what he’s talking about. “supra?”

jericho purses his lips together to not smile. ash was a complete noob. “i’ll show you sometime.”

they introduce themselves and shake hands. to which ash forgets to let go, too focused on looking at the scar running through his eyebrow as he’s close enough to see it. it was jagged but long since healed over— totally badass.

meanwhile jericho took in ash’s appearance. sapphire eyes, inky black hair, and a single mole below his bottom lip to the right. handsome was an understatement.

once jericho finally got ash’s car started, they bid their adieu. but not before he smoothly gave ash the address to the shop he half owns and works at. “in case anything else happens to your cruelly unnamed ride” they had said.

ash put his hands on his cheeks. treating his fingers like water and his face was fire— attempting to put out all this heat. he wasn’t used to being the one getting talked up.

he typically did the talking. he was the one who was supposed to be charismatic and charming and smooth. but here he was, driving his friends back without a word out of his usually chatty mouth.

“you should bring jericho around more often so ash stays quiet like this,” chantelle said to oaklynn who was sat in the backseat.

“oh shut up,” ash managed to get out, pulling into chantelle’s apartment complex parking lot. he parked in the handicap spot effortlessly and got an earful from miss righteous planet-loving 5 foot nothing. how’s the weather down there? is his go-to response with her.

as oaklynn headed in, chantelle got hung up by ash. his tinted window rolled down and her leaning into it. “are you going to do it tonight?” he asks.

chantelle avoids his gaze. she shrugs and smiles, “if the timing is right.”

“oh cmon, the timing is always right. you guys are meant to be.”

chantelle said goodbye after ash told her he better see a ring on her finger the next time she clocks into work.

he hopes it’s a large shiny rock but knowing chantelle, she’ll be wearing a simple gold band on her own finger. it’s oaklynn who’ll have a little beautiful stone.

on his drive home, ash daydreams about getting a ring for someone one day. how he’d go all out and spoil the shit out of some lucky person. he’d drop a brick on something so extravagant just because he can and it’d put everyone else to shame.

coincidentally the radio began playing that’s what i like by bruno mars and he started laughing. this annoying ass, corny song was ash’s anthem he thought. or would be his anthem if he had a special someone to spoil.

he finds himself also thinking of names for his audi, just so he could see jericho again.

˚ · .

as always jericho copyright dylan :-) TY for reading!

[zorilleerrant]

Clark is not having a good time in Ace's body. Ace has amazing skills, but those are all down to training, so for someone who not only knows how to use his body, but any canine body at all? Clark can probably master running - not fast, not without seriously injuring himself - and biting, but that's it. JP, on the other hand, will do fine in a body with similar stamina and conditioning to his own (altho I think as of current continuity his fighting skill is tied to his suit, not his mind, so that would be a hindrance). Jon-el presumably knows how to Shazam (which is not that secret within the superhero community), but interestingly his Captain form would probably look different and might have different powers, more similar to his own. So I think he'd be at the best advantage, power-wise. Cap would definitely put a damper on what he's allowed to do, though.

Ace is not going to be much help. He can probably still tackle people pretty well, which could be a decent benefit in some situations, but biting and scratching wouldn't work very well in his new body, and he wouldn't be able to modify it quickly. However, I also don't think he's a big danger to himself or his teammates, because he knows and trusts Garth, who has a lot of experience with animal handling. (I do assume Ace still recognizes Garth, because he tends to have that kind of mildly supernatural skill, as most dogs, cats, and horses do.) However, this does mean Garth has to command Ace, leaving him not entirely free to use his own powers. He's familiar with magic enough that he's probably quick to intuit them, but his attention is split. Mr. Terrific is going to have a huge advantage, though, because he fights using technology and he's got a sudden upgrade in the tech available to him, in a body that's not that much less conditioned. He can also trust his teammates to take care of each other, and is free to work on his own, unlike the other team.

Superboy is going to have to contend with his dad trying to micromanage him, while also not even being able to tell him anything. Clark will have all his attention taken up by trying to do that, getting in the way a lot. And while Superboy can probably just fly away and ignore him, he's going to have a lot of mental pressure to listen to his dad, and a strong urge to try to resolve this through negotiation, rather than fighting, making fighting difficult. He'll also feel a strong moral push to invite Azrael onto his team and treat him like family, which will either work very well or very poorly, depending on JP's attitude towards his new team. It's possible he'll think this is all in his head and he has to resist forming any team, but it's also possible he'll hold the need to work together above that. Unfortunately, the only member of the team he'll recognize is Ace, and he knows for sure that's not right. So I think it's more likely both of them will antagonize Cap. If Cap is driving, this will only somewhat hamper him, although confusion will do a lot to make things difficult. But if Superboy is driving, he'll have a whole bunch of new voices inside his head, plus two teammates hassling him, and won't be able to fight very well.

Mr. Terrific will, as usual, go for the heavy hitter first, with technology that could take down a kryptonian, which will either fake out Superboy long enough to take him down, or at least distract Cap momentarily. It's likely Blue Beetle has something in his arsenal that can physically trap Cap for a while, although it does depend on how long everyone needs to be incapacitated for a win condition. Garth will probably physically pick up Ace's body to be sure he's gentle enough with it, but have Ace tackle Azrael, who can't hold up to Ace's new stamina, even though he lacks finesse. Garth's new body can channel the magic he's been trained to use, so if he can get off a quick and dirty spell from memory to bind Cap long enough to win the match, then Team 16 will win, otherwise I think they'll have to run out the clock, since I don't think anyone involved is willing to kill anyone else involved. (JPV will avoid killing if he thinks it's a trick because he'll think it's a test of his morality, and otherwise he'll recognize that these aren't his enemies.)

The DC Body Swap Brawl

Round 1, Brawl 8

Location: Gotham City Docks

It's nighttime at the docks. Barges stacked with shipping containers rest silently in the water, and tall warehouses wall off the area. Flood lights illuminate where the asphalt ground drops off to the murky water below.

Team 15

Clark Kent (Superman) in the body of Ace the Bat-Hound

Jean-Paul Valley (Azrael) in the body of Michael Holt (Mr. Terrific)

Jon Kent (Superboy) in the body of Billy Batson (Captain Marvel)

Team 16

Ace the Bat-Hound in the body of Mark Moonrider

Garth (Tempest/Aqualad) in the body of Orion

Michael Holt (Mr. Terrific) in the body of Ted Kord (Blue Beetle)

Discuss how you think the fight will go in the notes, and in a week we'll vote to see who comes out on top!

Brawl Rules | General Rules | Bracket

[lemon-muncher]

Can u do a rin okumera or shima renzo x male reader pls?

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS REQUEST FOR SO LONG!!!!!

I'm not sure if you wanted Rin to be dominant or submissive but I made him a sub in this since that's how I usually write characters. If you want a dom Rin, please let me know!!

Due to Rin being the son of Satan and everything, I wanted to include 'demon-like' urges for him. I was also thinking of making the reader a succubus, so making him a sex demon would help with the dom/sub roles within this.

Sub Rin Okumura x Male Demon Reader

It was pitch black within the woods. The trees seemed to bend over your head, casting shadows of the seen and unseen creatures. The only form of light came from the bright moonlight that seeped between the treetops. The sounds of crickets and grasshoppers nearby echoed in the small yet large wooded area. To some people, this scenery would make you uneasy, making you feel vulnerable to anything that was lurking nearby. To others, it would be peaceful and relaxing, a place to feel like you could be yourself. To Rin Okumura, one of the sons of Satan, it was unsure how the position he was in should make him feel.

There he laid on the hard, dirt covered ground, his chest scratching against the tiny rocks on the ground with your larger claw-like fingers down his throat. "Such a pretty prince~ " Your sultry voice echoed in his ear as tears fell from the demon's eyes. His small body was trapped under your much stronger one, pinning him to the ground. Your tail wrapped around his waist, leaving little to no room to move. Rin only stared at the tree his katana leaned against in betrayal for not being within arm's reach, leaving him powerless and completely at your mercy.

"Come on now, Princey~ I know you want this too." Rin flinched as he felt the head of your cock press up against his ass. "Just accept the fact that you have the same hunger as me!" Lust was spread across your face, not that Rin could physically see it. But he felt it. The scent of it leaked from every pore in your body. You reeked of it and Rin wasn't sure if he could handle anymore before his own internal lust overpowered his rational. You roughly pulled your fingers out of his mouth only to pull at his black hair. The sudden movement pulled a wild moan from the boy's body. "Admit it! You want me to destroy you! Wreck you! Fuck you until the only thing you can think of is me!" You rambled on about his hidden urges. And Rin wasn't sure if it was because you were talking for so long or if he truly did believe you, but he knew you were right.

You slowly and painfully pushed into the boy's body, his blue eyes closing as tears fell from them. "Fuck~ I knew you'd be good but damn I never expected you to suck me in like this, Prince!" Rin instinctively pushed himself back against you. His body moved as if had a mind of his own. "Please... just dO SomeTHing~" He moaned aimlessly into the ground, his toes curling at the new and addicting feeling. You, fulfilling your own sexual hunger, grinned at the pathetic sight in front of you. You piston your hips to meet the other males, using him as your own personal fleshlight.

Saliva gathered in your mouth, the feeling of using one of Satan's sons as your own toy gave you a power drive unlike any you've felt before. The male under you babbling nonsense, spreading his own lust drove you mad like a dog. His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, his hair now messy from all the pulling you've done. It was absolutely delicious. What was better was the sight of his body trembling, his orgasm taking you both by surprise. He clenched around your cock, causing you to empty yourself out into him.

The once noisy woods became quiet with only the sound of heavy breathing being heard. "...Was that ok?" You asked the male under you. He only turned his head to show you is tear filled eyes and smiled wildly. Your tail unwrapped around his waist and slightly wagged, knowing you pleased him. Who knew actually agree to roleplay with your boyfriend would be enjoyable.

"Horny fucker..."

HA! Bet you weren't expecting that ending were you ;) Anyways if you want to see more or request anything else, let me know

[tokusaatsus]

WHY THEY DON’T CONFESS TO YOU

ft. HiMERU, sena izumi, tenshouin eichi

© tokusaatsus 2022

warnings: spoilers for himeru’s backstory, mentions of hospitals in eichi’s

Because it would be a lie

HiMERU would tell you they love you, except that’s not quite true. HiMERU doesn’t love you. HiMERU doesn’t even know you. As far as HiMERU is concerned, they’ve never met, interacted with, or spoken to the person known as L/N Y/N.

L/N Y/N and HiMERU do not exist in the same circles. There is only the tiniest bit of overlap, caused by Crazy:B and CosPro. And yet, that tiny space allowed the two of you to meet. It’s the butterfly effect. Spiralling and spiralling and spiralling.

However, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ does love you. But ⬛⬛⬛⬛ can’t tell you that they love you, because they do not exist. Not anymore. Maybe once, a long time ago, but now? ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is not a real person. The only person who could ever claim to know ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is now lying in a hospital bed, trapped in that liminal space between waking and unconsciousness. You might even say that ⬛⬛⬛⬛ never really existed in the first place, because if no one is awake enough to remember you, then are you truly living?

Are you in a perpetual state of limbo? Schrödinger’s idol, perhaps, where you both exist and don’t.

It’s a paradox, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ thinks. They love you, but they can’t tell you. HiMERU doesn’t love you, but HiMERU can tell you.

It would be cruel, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ reflects, to tell you HiMERU loves you when it is a lie.

You have always treated them with a sort of softness, a direct contrast to how you treat Amagi. The two of you are always bickering, bickering, bickering. Shiina once likened it to pigtail pulling–what children do on the playground when they are unable to express their true feelings–and HiMERU supposes that wouldn’t be an entirely wrong way of looking at it.

HiMERU isn’t blind. They see the way you look at them sometimes, during practice. Stealing glances, then looking away the minute your eyes meet. But that’s just it, isn’t it? You love HiMERU. Not ⬛⬛⬛⬛. Never ⬛⬛⬛⬛, because you don’t know ⬛⬛⬛⬛ so how could you love ​​⬛⬛⬛⬛? That’s the thing, see. You couldn’t.

So HiMERU won’t lie to you. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ will continue to love you as they always have and they will do so quietly–then you will move on and one day find someone who can truly, truly reciprocate your feelings and you will forget. Forget about HiMERU and ⬛⬛⬛⬛ and the blue-haired idol who made your heart skip a beat once upon a time.

He’s scared of being abandoned

Izumi won’t say he loves you.

That might be too broad of a term. Sure, he’s fond of you. Your personality doesn’t grate on him like so many others do, and you don’t try to get close to him out of some misguided attempt at pity. It helps that while you’re sweet on him, you don’t take any of his bullshit.

He knows what your favourite colour is, and why you always cry at this one specific commercial, and why you hate that one flavour and go out of your way to avoid it–and in return, you know what his favourite songs are, and why he hates painting his own nails, and why he likes stupid rom-coms.

And he can admit, he does like you more than most people. He’s listened to you moon over other boys and girls with a dreamy expression on your face, and forcing down that instinctual urge to give a scathing remark is getting a lot harder when he sees how you carelessly give your heart away to people who don’t deserve it right now and who probably never will.

(Yes, he’s aware he might be feeling a tad bit…jealous. Sue him.)

He can tell the others–well, mostly Naru-kun–may be picking up on his, ugh, feelings because she always gives him knowing glances whenever she sees him chatting with you in the hallways.

Y/N-chan is rather good-looking, no? Well, yes, it’s not like he hasn’t noticed? But whatever Naru-kun is hoping will happen is never going to, so she might as well stop getting her hopes up. You never even look at him. You’re always dreaming, head in the clouds. One day, you might go somewhere far beyond his reach, and then what?

Izumi is tired of being left behind.

He’s tired of waiting, waiting, always waiting for someone to come back. He’s tired of waiting for proof that he’s truly wanted. He’s been tired for a long while now, actually, but he’s never known how to do anything except wait and wait and wait and hope that they will return to him one day and they will tell him what he did wrong so he can prevent it from happening again.

It happened with…him. He’s not going to let it happen to you, too.

Besides, what you have right now is perfectly fine. So what if his glances linger sometimes and his touches last a little too long? It’s not like you’ll ever notice, anyways.

He thinks he’s going to die

Eichi knows he’s living on borrowed time. He’s known it for a long time. He might even have been born with this knowledge and isn’t that sad? Knowing that you are going to die just as you take your first breath.

There are so many things he hasn’t done yet. He hasn’t gone on a rollercoaster. He hasn’t eaten so much candy until he’s sick of it. He hasn’t had a scary movie marathon, he hasn’t stayed up until past midnight chatting with a friend on the other side of the world, he hasn’t sampled foods from around the globe.

He hasn’t told you he loves you.

There’s something that sets apart that last one from the rest of the items, though. On TENSHOUIN EICHI’S 100 THINGS I WANT TO DO BEFORE I DIE list, it would be at the very top in bold black ink, pressed in his looping script. TELL Y/N I LOVE YOU. Taunting him, because it still hasn’t been fulfilled and likely never will.

Oh, he knows he could tell you. You might even reciprocate. The chances of that are quite high. After all, he knows you. But he won’t.

And that’s the problem.

If he told you, it would be sweet, almost cloyingly so. He can already picture the confession. He would take you out to your favourite café, he would pay for your food, and then you would walk hand-in-hand under the sakura trees and the petals would shower over you two and Eichi would take your hands in his and he would say: Y/N, I love you. We are already partners, in every sense of the term except the romantic one. But we could be. What do you say?

You would say yes and then kiss him afterwards, under the veil of pink, with your fingers buried in his hair and his arms wrapped around your waist. And then you two would date and it would be your happily ever after.

That’s all well and good, until Eichi’s heart stops working the way it should and he’s rushed to a hospital with its cold, impersonal rooms and sterile steel instruments and beeping heart monitor and you would sit at his bedside and weep and weep and weep with his fingers clutched in yours as the ticking clock of his lifeline slowly faded into static: beeeeeeeep.

How could he do that to you?

Here’s your answer: he can’t.

notes!

WC: 1.2k words

reze txt hi. i ghostwrote this in 2 hours. no beta we die like men (lies a lil beta thanks grammarly i owe u one fr) i just like seeing y’all cry. enjoy <33

[0shewrites0]

It's sucks that we can't have Henrik as Lucas' best person in wedding special. I hope I can see a headcanon about Henrik being his best bro's best person. Is it desperate to ask??

Hi there! It's certainly not desperate to ask! 🫶🏼

Although I have to admit I'm no Henrik expert (unlike @longbobmckenzie), so there's a good chance I'm getting it all wrong.

Anyway, I'm going to focus on Lucas being Henrik's best mate in this scenario. It’s just easier like that 🥲

🤎 puns. You can bet that Henrik constantly makes puns that he thinks are funny, even though they are just annoying (at least according to Lucas, but that man hardly ever finds anything funny that others say anyway 💀😂), such as: “I recognise my place here. A best man is similar to a dead body at a funeral. Of course I’m expected to be there but if I say too much then you, my man, start freaking out” because Lucas would freak out at some point

🤎 his best man speech. Speaking of puns: Henrik will definitely roast his best mate during his best man speech! And he will preface his speech with something that goes something like “it’s been an emotional day, even the cake is in tiers” with a shit-eating grin on his face

🤎 teasing & mischief. Henrik will tease Lucas about how much of a control freak he is, especially on that day. And if Henrik had been Lucas's best man in that wedding special, he would have locked Lucas up in that stupid dove cove himself. 😭😂 Just for fun and to help him "relax a bit", "frown a bit less if he doesn't want his forehead to wrinkle before he turns 30" and just "live a little". But Henrik, being Henrik, wouldn't be able to keep that to himself for long and would most likely give himself away with his sly grin and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes 🥹

🤎 chaos. He would cause as much chaos as possible! He's the best man, and if there's one day he can (actually physically needs to - yes, it’s an itching urge he can’t suppress!) do just that, it's definitely his best friend's wedding, duh

🤎 moissanite stone. We all remember how Henrik teased Lucas about how "it’s all about moissanite stones these days because they have a higher brilliance", right? Henrik was already teasing him about it during the show. So if it's MC that Lucas is marrying and they got together during Love Island, you can bet he'll bring that up again, because you can be sure Lucas gave his fiancée a ring with a spectacular moissanite stone in it 😈

🤎 koala. That being said, Henrik would probably freak out at some point too. I think he's actually a highly sensitive person who picks up on the mood of the people he knows best, and that includes Lucas. So while Lucas is totally losing it (because commitment is still scary for him), it makes Henrik nervous and he tries to be there for Lucas, but in his own way. So he would definitely trap Lucas in some tight hugs, which serve to calm Lucas's nerves, sure. But at the same time, it's about Henrik trying to calm himself down. He'd cling to Lucas's back like a bloody baby koala until Lucas shoves him away with an annoyed look, but at the same time he can't hide the fact that he thinks it's ridiculously cute. He'd probably hiss "bloody melt" under his breath and then ruffle Henrik's hair, at which point the latter would break out into a huge grin 🥹🥹

🤎 support. But apart from that, he would be so supportive! He’s not the best at organising stuff (unless it’s mountain climbing ofc 💀😂), so he’d probably mess up a few things, but he does his best, and you know you can't stay mad at him for long when he looks at you with those damn blue eyes and gives you his best Nordic gods smile that makes your knees go weak

[the-last-kenobi]

If you’re still taking requests (feel no pressure to do this) 14 with Obi-wan and a knight Anakin because that sounds very much like him

A fluff prompt!! I’m so excited, thank you! 🤍

From this various prompts list.

Requests are currently closed.

_

Obi-Wan Kenobi had not slept in three nights, and his Lineage was not happy about it.

Ahsoka and Anakin watched with narrowed eyes from a balcony as the Jedi Master mingled with the crowd, smiling softly at anyone who engaged his attention, keeping close to the side of Chancellor Palpatine and Vice Chair Mas Amedda.

For a man who was running on very little sleep and hardly any sustenance, Obi-Wan was managing to maintain the image of the perfect Jedi — civil, humble, charming, wise. Power concealed just below the surface.

Every so often, Palpatine would draw the Jedi deeper into some conversation or other, or pat him on the shoulder in a strangely paternal fashion.

“Why does he keep doing that?” Ahsoka hissed to her Master. “Master Kenobi hates strangers touching him!”

“The Chancellor isn’t a stranger,” Anakin said defensively. But he watched again as Palpatine settled a hand on his former Master’s arm and saw the slight tension creasing Obi-Wan’s forehead, and had to concede that Obi-Wan was feeling uncomfortable. “But yeah. I don’t think the Chancellor knows, he wouldn’t do it if he did. He’s probably just too used to working with me instead. We’re more like friends.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows. “And would he have let you go home by now? We were supposed to be able to leave almost two hours ago.”

Anakin sighed. He leaned on the railing, absentmindedly picking at a carved design in the metal with his mech hand, creating a small clicking noise. He scanned the room again, searching for unlikely threats, and then returned his gaze to his Master and his friend, still penned in the center of a colorful crowd all waiting for attention. To see and be seen. Vultures.

Obi-Wan had more patience for this sort of thing, it was true, but it was apparent to those who knew him well — to Anakin — that he was run ragged. That every new face turning in his direction, awed and pettily delighted by meeting both the Supreme Chancellor and a High Jedi General, was another weight on his shoulders.

Anakin glanced over at his Padawan. Ahsoka’s eyes lit up as she saw the look in his eyes.

“How do you wanna do this?” she asked, tapping her fingers excitedly on the banister. “I know you like explosions, but if you set something off, Master Obi-Wan will definitely have to flee with the Chancellor to safety and then he’ll be gone for ages.”

“You’re right, Snips,” Anakin said, and a smirk pulled at his lips. He ruffled his hair proudly, ignoring Ahsoka’s eye roll, and said, “So I’ll take a leaf from Obi-Wan’s book. I’ll just go right down there and use my words.”

Anakin beamed.

Ahsoka looked as if she suddenly preferred an explosion.

-

“Yes, hi, hello, excuse me, coming through, yep, pardon me, just walking here,” Anakin threw scattered, inane apologies in every direction as he plowed a path right through the entire gala.

Ahsoka trailed in his wake, smiling awkwardly at the people who scattered with startled looks and scowling ferociously at those who dared look cross.

Obi-Wan spotted them first. He was deep in conversation with a representative from the Core, but his blue eyes flickered to them briefly and his smile became slightly taut; he raised one of his hands in what might have passed for a wave but was, to his Padawans, a clear signal to turn around.

Anakin disregarded this subtle warning immediately.

He strolled directly up to Obi-Wan, bowed slightly, and put a hand on the Master’s shoulder, smiling blindingly at the representative. “Good evening. I’m afraid it’s time for Master Kenobi to depart. The Jedi thank you for your time.”

The representative raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

Palpatine, on the other hand, suddenly popped up right beside them, a wide smile on his grandfatherly face. “Anakin, Knight Skywalker, how good to see you! I thought you’d gone home hours ago, why, surely you need your rest after that last campaign.”

Anakin kept a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Ahsoka shifted to stand behind them, smiling a little too widely, the points of her teeth glinting, at anyone who looked at them askance.

“We had quite the victory,” Anakin agreed. He preened slightly. But — “And you’re right, Chancellor, we do need our rest. General Kenobi has served very well, and we’re all eager to rest and prepare for our next deployment.”

Palpatine’s smile widened still further. “Ah, yes. General Kenobi is an incredible public servant, he’s such a delight to have at events such as these.”

This time it was Anakin who tensed slightly. Ahsoka sidled up surreptitiously and linked her arm with Master Obi-Wan’s, flanking him between them, drawn up as tall as she could make herself.

Anakin looked intently at Palpatine, trying to communicate to his friend that now was not the time for politics. He’d thought this would be easy, but the Chancellor seemed determined to keep Kenobi with him all evening. The crowd had begun to disperse, realizing they weren’t going to be receiving any attention for awhile, but they milled about nearby, clearly listening in.

“I—” Obi-Wan began, but Anakin decided to risk his Master’s wrath and just cut him right off.

“And he and I are always happy to be invited by such gracious hosts!” he blurted out quickly. “But sadly, we will have to wait for another invitation before we get the chance to enjoy one another’s company. We really do have to be going.”

Palpatine studied him for a moment.

Go on, Anakin urged him silently. Please. Come on. You know we want to leave.

The silence dragged.

“Master Kenobi,” Palpatine said warmly, turning to Obi-Wan, and Anakin felt a wave of relief. “What do you say? Shall we… let you out of your duties for the sake of your valiant friends?”

Oh, what the fuck?

It had the ring of a joke but was worded like a trap. And Anakin could see, in slow-motion, the flicker of resignation and bitterness deep in Obi-Wan’s blue eyes, just behind the friendly smile, and knew what was about to happen if he didn’t do something about it.

Anakin let out a loud laugh and clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder again. “Sorry, everyone. We’re on a time crunch, we have to get back in time for dessert.”

Ahsoka laughed, too, and clung a little tighter to Obi-Wan’s arm.

Obi-Wan looked somewhere between confused and horror struck.

Palpatine’s smile froze.

Anakin chuckled and waved at the surrounding crowd, shrugging in a you-know-how-it-is sort of way. “Hey, he promised us milkshakes. General I may be, but I still demand my old Master fulfill his promises of unhealthy desserts.”

“Hey, I think out of everyone, I deserve milkshakes the most!” Ahsoka interjected, her tone teasing.

A few of the politicians shot her amused smiles. Ordinarily she would have bristled, but in this instance she just shot them knowing, conspiratorial looks, like a child deliberately making mischief. There was a ripple of laughter.

“I don’t know about that,” Anakin said. “I think I definitely took out the most droids.”

“Riiiight,” said Ashoka. “After I took out the battlement. By myself.”

They ribbed back and forth. The gala was eating it up, their faces amused and indulgent, intrigued by the display of youthful frivolity and friendship the Jedi were giving them. Obi-Wan was still pinned between them, rooted helplessly to the spot.

Anakin looked back at the Chancellor, expecting a smile.

Instead he got a blank expression — which quickly turned into a loud bark of laughter and a grandfatherly grin. He clapped his hands to gain the attention of the crowd and said, “Oh, I believe our brave Hero and his friends have earned themselves a night out for something as innocent and delightful as milkshakes, don’t you say?”

The crowd laughed and nodded; there was scattered applause, and it was done.

Anakin winked at the Chancellor and then turned on the spot, he and Ahsoka striding out the room with Obi-Wan trapped in the middle, waving and bowing at anyone who smiled in their direction.

The three of them escaped out of the ballroom, down the flight of stairs, and out onto the grand balcony overlooking the landing platform, where their ship was waiting in the semi-darkness of the Coruscant night.

Anakin and Ahsoka turned at the same time to look at Obi-Wan, each of them still holding on to one of the Master’s arms.

There was a long silence.

Obi-Wan stared tiredly down at the speeder for a very long time.

Anakin looked at his Padawan nervously.

But then Obi-Wan’s lips twitched beneath his beard, and then he chuckled, and then he burst into uproarious laughter. The sound was infectious; relieved and excited, the other two clung to him and laughed, all of them half-leaning on the railing, cackling like idiots.

They laughed until they ran out of breath, and then laughed a little more.

After a long while, Obi-Wan disentangled his arms from their controlling grips but immediately settled them back, one on Anakin’s shoulder and the other resting on Ahsoka’s back. “I think,” he said, “I promised you milkshakes. Dex’s?”

“Oh, I definitely remember you saying that!” Ahsoka said. “Dex’s is great.”

“Yeah, and you also definitely said you’d pay,” Anakin wheedled.

“No,” Obi-Wan said firmly.

“Awww. Worth a shot,” Anakin whispered to his Padawan.

Obi-Wan smiled. “I said I’d pay for Ahsoka’s. You, my Knighted former Padawan, can pay for your own dessert.”

Ahsoka cheered. Anakin groaned. They strolled off into the night, ambling without haste or urgency or fear, connected by light touches of the hands and arms, and by something deeper and unseen and familial.

There would be time for the war and politics later.

Right now, they were late for dessert.

fin

[michaelmilligan]

Endversetober Day One: Run

(explanation post) (compilation post)

Adam ran.

While he'd never been very interested in running, or sports in general, it turned out he was kind of good at it. At least given the right motivation.

Being chased by zombies was a pretty solid motivation, it turned out.

When you said that the world was in a 'complicated state', he said, purely in his head, because he needed his freaking breath to keep running.

YES? The being in his head answered idly, but loudly. (Which seemed to be the only volume he had available.) It still made Adam jump every time he talked. Every time the blue hot molasses of archangel moved inside of him, stirred next to his... mind? Soul?

Because apparently souls existed, like, for real. And angels and God and all of that were real, too.

Why, then, were there fucking zombies coming after him?

I didn't exactly picture this, Adam said as he broke through a treeline. And came to a grinding halt as he spotted even more zombies ahead of him. Ah, fuck.

He winced when he realized that particular thought had been sent to the archangel in his head, but Michael only reacted with mild interest.

WHY ARE YOU EVEN RUNNING? he asked.

So I don't get eaten by freaking zombies. Again.

AGAIN? Michael echoed, but the matter of how Adam had died took a backseat as the zombies advanced on them. GIVE ME THE BODY.

Wha- Before Adam could consciously move away – however that even worked, giving up control of your body – Michael pushed into the driver's seat.

For a moment, everything went black, Adam being cut off from the senses of his own body. Then, when he was oriented enough to look again, the zombies were all dead.

Well, deader than before. Actually unmoving now.

Wait, you can do that? Adam asked incredulously.

I'M AN ARCHANGEL. DID YOU REALLY THINK A FEW SLOBBERING, CORRUPTED HUMANS COULD HURT ME?

Then why did you let me run from them for ten minutes?! Maybe it was inappropriate to blow up in an angel's face – mind? – like this, but Adam had really been toyed with and eaten alive by gruesome monsters  more than enough.

IT WAS HARDLY EVEN FIVE MINUTES, Michael just said. I SUPPOSE I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET YOU TAKE OVER THE BODY IN THE FIRST PLACE.

No no no, that part isn't the issue!

Honestly, Adam had no great desire to pilot the body when there was apparently a zombie apocalypse going on, but he also didn't want to be trapped in the back of his own mind, stuck just watching said apocalypse play out.

Which was funny, he supposed, because he had said yes to helping with the whole actual apocalypse business. Like, end of the world, ushering in paradise, all that good stuff, apocalypse.

Is this what brings about paradise? he asked cautiously. Zombies eating everyone's brains?

Sure, he'd never expected the end of the world to be filled with rainbows and unicorns, but this... this seemed off, somehow. Weren't plagues only sent by God as punishments?

THEY DON'T EAT BRAINS, AS FAR AS I KNOW, Michael said cagily as he manoeuvred Adam's body over some debris.

Whatever had happened in this town, it hadn't been pretty, judging from the thrashed store-fronts and the partially crumbled buildings all around them. There were bodies, too, and Adam felt the urge to check them for life signs, to see if there were any survivors. But his body currently wasn't his, and besides – what if those people did stand up again, and tried to take a bite out of him?

Out of them. They were two now, a human and an archangel sharing the same body.

Weird times apparently called for weird measures, or whatever.

What are we doing in the middle of the hot zone, anyway? Adam asked for probably the third time. But it wasn't his fault that Michael was bad at giving straight answers, or that Adam was anxious as hell over everything that was going on down here.

When they'd entered the fenced-in zone, he had asked Michael about radioactivity. He'd just said that Adam didn't need to worry about that.

He hadn't exactly told him what to worry about instead.

Which were apparently freaking zombies.

Michael gave something like a sigh. It was admittedly difficult to interpret an archangel's thoughts, the flood of images, sounds and colours always overwhelming. But Adam was pretty sure that the strong gust of wind that almost mentally knocked him over was a sigh.

AS I ALREADY TOLD YOU, WE'RE LOOKING FOR MY LANCE. AND GABRIEL WAS LAST SEEN IN THIS AREA.

And Gabriel is the guy who nicked your lance?

A wave of something else overwhelming crashed against Adam, like the tide throwing him over, then pulling him under.

Holy moly. Was that amusement?

YES, THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL IS THE 'GUY' WHO STOLE IT, Michael said.

Right. Of course it was another archangel they were talking about. Because what even was Adam's life. (After-life? Second life?)

Why did he take it?

HM?

Why did another angel take your lance?

I'M NOT SURE. POSSIBLY SPITE. Michael stopped in front of a building, sizing it up and down with Adam's eyes for a moment before ducking inside.

Angels can feel spite? Adam asked, astonished. This didn't line up with what Pastor Joe had been preaching him. Aren't angels supposed to be perfect beings?

WE ARE, Michael said, but only after a pause.

But there's infighting?

GABRIEL IS... WELL, HE RAN AWAY AND FAKED HIS OWN DEATH. THAT SHOULD TELL YOU EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW.

He what??

IT WAS ALL VERY DRAMATIC. Another Adam-was-pretty-sure-it-was-a-sigh. HE'S ALWAYS BEEN PRONE TO SUCH ANTICS.

Huh. Since when have you guys known each other? Adam asked as they climbed some stairs. He wasn't sure if Michael thought the lance was here, or if he was just looking for a good vantage point or something, but he didn't question it.

SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. When they came upon a hole in the steps that was too big to jump over, Michael stopped again. It looked like something had fallen through the steps – oh, yeah, the piano that was lying crushed on the ground floor could have been the culprit.

Adam would have wondered how he could even see that from all the way up here, but the casualness with which Michael had mentioned the beginning of time had thrown him for a bit of a loop.

Oh, right. Yeah. Of course two archangels had known each other forever. What had Adam been thinking?

There was a sudden lurch, as if their body was violently thrown through space and time and any other dimension that existed, and then they were suddenly standing on the other side of the hole in the stairs.

What the fuck was that? Adam asked when he'd caught his metaphorical breath again.

HM? Michael just made, continuing his trek upwards.

That... how did you... the hole...

I FLEW OVER IT.

That was flying?!

YES.

They'd arrived at the top of the stairs, and Michael pushed open a security door that had somehow survived whatever had wrecked the rest of this place. It creaked pitifully for a moment until it popped off its hinges and fell, with a slightly comical delay, forwards onto the roof.

It was a flat roof with a low wall surrounding it, made out of the same grey material as the rest of the building. Adam's grandfather would have thrown a fit over this, ranting about accumulating rain water and snow.

HM, Michael made again, but this time not at Adam.

At least Adam was pretty sure of that.

What is it? he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

I DON'T THINK GABRIEL IS IN THIS TOWN ANYMORE.

How do you know?

HIS TRAIL ENDS HERE. Michael stepped closer to the edge of the roof, letting Adam's eyes roam the surrounding buildings.

Wait, you're tracking him? How?

I HAVE MY WAYS.

Adam sighed. Mentally. It wasn't like he had control of his lungs right now.

He wasn't even sure if Michael was using his lungs, if they were breathing at all.

Got it. The archangel Michael works in mysterious ways.

THEY'RE NOT VERY MYSTERIOUS, I JUST DON'T THINK YOU'D UNDERSTAND, Michael said easily.

Wow. Rude. Adam scowled (again, mentally), then quickly added: I mean, you're probably right. But still rude.

Another wave of amusement hit him, throwing him off balance. By the time he was oriented again, they had already flown somewhere else.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the thing about life was that a flame could be so easily blown out, so people fought like hell to keep it alive. the tip of the candle could easily be cupped for protection, gentle breath given to let the flame flutter back to life. (is that what she did? when she pounded his chest again and again, her magic stronger than any human could be? when she pressed her lips to his and breathed the very essence of life back into his body?) what people often forgot was that you could simply relight the candle.

bernard hadn't thought about darla in years. people on online forums, ones he'll never tell tim how often he visited, spoke of their experiences with metas and myths and anyone in between. he knew what happened to people accosted by magic, knew of chains trapping them with their own terror, their minds turning against themselves as their nightmares came to life.

bernard, on the other hand, could say that he wasn't all that haunted by darla. she'd lifted his car off the ground in a display of power, told bernard she was laura fell now, no matter the fact that she looked and walked and talked like darla aquista, then threatened his life on behalf of her seemingly never-ending obsession with tim motherfucking drake. seemingly, because when bernard had brought up old times they used to spend with darla over lunch, casual as you please, tim had grinned a little before dismissing his fears. darla was training with some sort of enchantress to try and be good, growing more powerful by the day.

bernard wondered, for a moment, if all of his friends could make the earth quake with a press of their fingertips. if all of his friends could bend those figures of myth and meta and magic with only their will. if he'd spent his life in the company of gods in everything but name, right down to the perfect muscles pulling under skin and battle-worn glimmer in eyes too old to be on a faces so young. (bernard wondered, for a moment, if there was any way he could join them. if the madness in darla's eyes as she demanded tim's whereabouts and the screams of terror on his boyfriend's lips as he woke up with a knife in his hand were worth it.)

bernard knew there was nothing he could have done for darla. probably not now but definitely not back then. he had no power over life and death, he couldn't have saved darla from the bullet wound that cost her nearly everything had he even attempted to try. sometimes, darla shifted in his memories, morphed into someone with the same dark hair and same blue eyes, but with broader shoulders and a kinder smile.

there was the fear that one day, something would take tim down, a dark shadow grappling with his boyfriend's shining, golden soul before snuffing it out as surely as a candle. then there was the fear that one day, something would bring tim back, clawed fingers opening his boyfriend's eyes and twisting that golden soul into something dripping and jagged, as poisonously yellow as laura fell.

(bernard learned of what happened to jason todd on accident, a couple years after the cult of dionysus. there were some horrors he could force himself to speak aloud, some fates that he couldn't stomach.)

(if tim was surprised at the way bernard's fingernails dug into his back as he held the vigilante close, at the way bernard took advantage of the inches he'd lost to tim's late growth spurt to curl himself completely into his boyfriend's arms, then tim never showed a whisper of it.)

the quickest way to avoid all of that, bernard thought, was to just make sure tim didn't die in the first place.

"hey," tim said, bringing his hand up to flick bernard on the forehead. "only shit nurses get distracted when they're treating their patient."

"only shit patients have such abysmal bedside manner."

"oooh, abysmal," tim waggled his eyebrows. "that word-of-the-day calendar is really coming in handy, huh?"

bernard sniffed. "i'll have you know that i am a well-read intellectual. fuckin' sherlock at this point."

in the movies, people with wounds like the glaring one on tim's shoulder sagged into the wall, made tearful confessions through a mouth full of blood, shuddered in pain at the slightest touch. tim's fingers hurt where he hit bernard's forehead, he didn't lose his smart mouth for anything, and was tapping his foot in impatience before bernard propped it up on the sofa.

"you're fucking sherlock? that's such a sweet pet name, you should use it more often," tim teased.

"don't get a big head, you're not that good."

bernard opened the first aid kit, unusually large and unusually used. his fingers found the small pipe bottle of water and the gauze. he tore a small piece off before wiping off the rest of the dried blood as gently has he could.

"you know," tim sounded almost contemplative, musing. completely disregarding what should have been a throbbing pain. completely trusting bernard to take care of him. "ra's al ghul called me detective once."

bernard's fingers closed around the saline solution with more ease than what was comfortable, but he had plenty of practice pushing those thoughts aside.

"i have no clue who that is," he said, feeling tim tense only the barest bit when he poured the solution over the wound. it had to have stung something fierce. bernard had seen grown men whimper at the sensation. tim sighed and tipped his head back instead.

"no one important," tim chuckled. "but i do kinda wish damian was here to hear that."

antibiotics next, and if tim felt the urge to shy away from bernard's fingers as he brushed the wound with ointment, bernard couldn't tell; he suppressed it as impressively as always.

"come on, no sibling talk when you're shirtless and i'm on top of you." bernard joked. neither of them mentioned the blood staining tim's undershirt-slash-makeshift-bandage, the dried blood flakes all over tim's lap, the way bernard's thighs were clenching tim to the point of pain.

between one blink and the next, tim was all wrapped up, gauze in place and bandage taped on top. his boyfriend's lovestruck little smile gleamed up at him, one bernard recognized. a pinch of awe and a dash of trust and a sprinkle of comfort. mix them together and bake at 350, bernard thought a bit hysterically, and you get love for a man who's terrified at how fast he can use bandages.

still, tim took precedent. every night bernard spent washing his hands too roughly at the sink was another night his boyfriend was breathing on the bed in the other room. every night bernard opened that unusually large and unusually used first aid kit was another night tim's soul stayed whole and shining and untarnished by whatever creatures took people beyond the veil only to drag them back. every night bernard spend trying to rub the scent of copper and the spill of liquid poppy off his fingers was another night bernard used his bloodstained hands to keep tim's flame alive.

i mayyyyyyyy have gotten a little too excited every time i used the word "boyfriend."

tag list: @woahjaybird @anothertimdrakestan @birdy-bat-writes @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bonkybearjpeg @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Yours, Mine, and Ours [7] Finale

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, violence, general sadness and shittiness.

This is dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You must face change.

Author Notes: I got another old series tied up and I’m editing the last chapter of another one as well. I’m trying to clear some stuff out as best I can.

A special thank you to everyone who reached out to me over the last few days. And extra thanks to @lokislastlove​ for always encouraging me.

Please let me know what you think, like and reblog <3 love ya

Masterlist

Bucky knelt beside you as your ass throbbed in pain and your head thrummed. He touched your arm gently with his metal hand, his other on your cheek as he cradled your face. You met his blue eyes but he quickly lifted his head and glared across the room.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll hit you again. Harder.” His snarl was so harsh and deep, it made you shiver. He turned his attention back to you as he helped you roll over and sit up, “Are you okay? Careful…” he backed off the bed slowly as he guided you to the end of the mattress.

You clung to him and glanced over at Steve as he spat blood onto the floor. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared as he looked back but he made no move towards you, his head lolling just slightly as he sat straight. 

You let Bucky usher you to the door as he turned back and searched around the floor. He huffed and took off his jacket instead, draping it over your shoulders.

He pointed you through the door and followed, snatched the throw from the back of the couch and offered it as he urged you on. You found your purse where you dropped it and stopped to grab it, groaning at how your body ached. You continued to the door as he opened it and followed you out.

You were silent as you descended, cloaked in his jacket and the thin blanket. You came around the building and neared your car. He kept away from you but hovered as if you might keel over.

“I can’t drive,” you let your purse dangle weakly from your hand.

“I’ll take you back,” he said softly, “and then you don’t have to see me ever again.”

You nodded and rounded his car. You opened the door and slumped into the seat, your purse on your lap as you hung your head. It was over. You knew it was. You thought there would be a way to hold onto Steve, to find the man he had been, but he assured you that that Steve was gone. Everything you had was lost.

The engine turned and you barely noticed the blur of the city as it passed outside the windows. You fought against the wave of grief that swept over you and leaned your head back.

“You said I’ll never see you again,” you croaked, “but you saved me.”

“So? I did all those other things too,” he gripped the wheel and sniffed, “I’ll keep my distance. I started all this. I never should’ve-- I’m fucked. I try to act like I’m not but I am.”

“Bucky…” you said weakly.

“Don’t. I know it’s the truth and I know everything that happened to you is because of me. Steve’s an asshole. I don’t know what changed in him, but I’m worse,” he sighed, “I’m gonna resign. I’m gonna… look into rehab or therapy, whatever they got for me. I can’t stay near you or Steve. I can’t do any of it.”

You nodded and rubbed your hands together. Your body hurt but your soul hurt worse.

“No, I’m going,” you said, “I’m leaving. I’m not a hero like you or Steve. I don’t matter. And I can’t stay with him. I can’t even stay close because I know he won’t stay away. Right now, he’s getting up off that floor and you can’t tell me he’s not coming after us right now.”

Your voice cracked and you muffled it with a corner of the blanket. You hunched over as suddenly you felt nauseous and you held in a retch. Your body shook but you kept the sickness in and murmured.

“Please, just get me back,” you begged.

“I will,” he vowed, “I’ll make sure you get out and I’ll make sure he doesn’t stop you,” you heard him gulp between his words, “and after, if you ever need me to knock him on his ass again, I’ll be there. No strings, no expectations, we don’t even need to talk.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the door, watching the pedestrians and other cars. You could only think of everything that needed to be done; grab what you can, email Tony, go back and get your car and drive without stopping.

“Shit,” you sat up as you neared the compound, “I forgot my phone.”

“Good,” Bucky said, “he’s tracking it. Get a new one.”

👥

Bucky closed the yellow taxi door and watched the cab pull out into the swell of New York traffic. She’d packed the remnants of her former life in a single backpack but he could see, she didn’t even need that. He backed away from the curb and tucked his hands into his pockets. His chest was tight and heavy. He was guilty but he didn’t feel sorry for himself. He felt sorry for her.

He was almost thrown off his feet as a hand gripped his arm and swung him around. Steve was white with anger as a vein popped out in his forehead. His lip was split and his nose bruised from Bucky’s fist. The men faced each other in mutual detest. He never expected to look at his oldest friend that way and feel it so succinctly.

“Where is she?” Steve growled.

Bucky shrugged and shouldered past him, “gone. Far from us.”

Steve followed him and stopped him before he could pass through the door. He shoved him back against the façade of the building but Bucky hardly felt it. He just stood, staring at the man he didn’t know any more, and lifted a brow.

“You gonna beat it out of me?” he asked, “then you’ll have to kill me.”

Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s and he growled under his breath, “all you had to do was follow the fucking rules.”

“I never liked those rules. I only wanted to be close to her. It was selfish. It was abuse.”

“She liked it,” Steve snapped.

“No, you told her she liked it and she loved you so much, she believed you,” Bucky’s voice turned raw, “she loved you and you threw it all away.”

“You ruined it,” Steve accused.

“Fuck you,” Bucky snarled, “you deserve to be alone.”

“I’ll find her,” Steve curled his fingers into a fist and puffed his chest, “I know exactly where she’s going. She won’t get to her car before I do.”

“No, she will,” Bucky pushed away from the wall and grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt and pinned him, “you won’t make it past me.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and his lips thinned. He gripped Bucky’s shirt in kind and the pair rolled against the wall until they stopped in a bitter stalemate. They stared each other down as their soles scuffed on the pavement and grunted almost in unison at their opponent.

“You won’t keep me from her forever,” Steve said calmly.

“She’s not the only one leaving, Steve,” Bucky hissed, “and I won’t feel bad at all when you wake up one day and realise how lonely you are.”

👥

Your new apartment was mostly empty but it was yours, unlike that seventh floor box Steve had made your cage. It was far from him, far from Bucky, far from everyone you ever knew. You knew you couldn’t hide with your parents or your sister or even those distant university friends who you knew would have your back. You had to be alone. It was your fear of that which got you into all that mess.

You didn’t see Bucky again but he did get a message to you. He left a gift for you at a safe house on your way out of the state. New identification, an unopened cell, and a wad of cash. It wasn’t atonement but it was what he could give you. You kept driving and exchanged your car at the stateline. You kept on until you felt as if you were in an entirely different country.

You took a job at the grocery store as a cashier. You remembered when you were a child and your mother had the same position. She went back to school and made you promise you’d never end up in the same boat. If she could see you now…

If you could see her.

You dropped your bag on the side table as you entered and turned the lock on the handle and the latch above, the deadbolt over that, and hooked the chain last. You clutched the pepper spray you kept up your sleeve and searched the single bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. Your paranoia was your only companion.

You kept the curtains drawn day and night, even those stolid nights when you couldn’t sleep for the thick sweat that coated your body. Those nights came more often and even during the day, you found yourself suffocated in fits of unbearable heat. And at night, you were trapped by the dreams of the past.

You sat and opened up the novel you kept on the coffee table. When you’d been with Steve, you never had much time to read between his need for attention and your work. Your relocation was freeing in more ways than one. 

You laid back and wiggled, still in your stiff grocery store uniform and lost yourself in the fantasy adventure of a young warrior. It was a fight you could control; that you could win.

👥

Bucky held the position and breathed out slowly. His muscles vibrated as he strained and slowly lifted his leg, the toes of his other foot firmly planted on the mat. He turned and outstretched his arm and leg to the ceiling and inhaled. He let out another breath as he reached the next position then returned to downward-facing dog.

He pushed himself back to sit on his knees as the noise of the lapping lake reached his ears and sent a cool breeze over the dock. He pulled his legs out from under him and bent his legs as he leaned his sweaty arms over his knees. He looked out at the glistening water and listened to the noise of birds and critters.

Peace. He couldn’t call it that. Exile, more like. He didn’t trust himself to be near people. His therapist visited once a week and he attended daily video sessions with him. One of his tasks was to find hobbies and to face himself. Yoga was both of those. It cleared his hand and ate up his time.

But then he found himself wishing she was there. He knew she wasn’t in some serene lake house, she didn’t have all the support offered by SHIELD and Stark, she didn’t have anyone. He did what he could, what she would accept from him, but there was nothing he could give her in that life that would ever be enough.

Then he felt awful about those thoughts. She was never his to have.

He stood and walked up the dock and the dirt path to the house. He climbed up onto the large deck and through sliding doors. He poured himself a glass of water and added a slice of lemon. He took it with him as he went to the bedroom where he slept alone, where the shadows of trees loomed over him in the night and swayed like the wraiths of his remorse.

The white cat hopped up on the bed and twirled in expectation, in demand of his attention. He scratched Alpine’s head as he neared and got a nip when he pet him a little too long. The moody feline retreated to the corner of the bed and watched him with his pale blue eyes. The creature was his only friend now.

He took a deep gulp and sat on the edge of the bed and set the glass down. He slid open the drawer of the hand-crafted night table and dipped his fingers inside. He pulled out the pink fabric and held them in his metal hand and stroked the dainty elastic. He should get rid of them, like he had the rest, but he just couldn’t. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t. He would never forget about her.

👥

You pushed the boxes and cans over the scanner and onto the next belt so that they were carried down to the end of the counter. You smiled as you asked the usual questions and waited for the customer to punch in their pin. You waved on the next in line as the former bagged their goods and you kept the distant tune playing from the low speakers in your head.

The routine was your only comfort. It was easy. Even when you got those fussy customers, the ones with the expired coupons or the wrong flyers, it was simple work. You rang them through and saw them off without concern. Their tantrums were not the worst you’d faced in your time.

When it was your time to clock out, you stopped by the café in the same plaza as the grocery store and ordered a tall iced tea. You came out with your purse on the arm that hid the pepper spray and made your way to the end of the pavement and around the corner to the street. 

At the first corner, you turned off onto a small side street then cut through to the park and passed the memorials and statues set along the winding path. It was a longer walk than your normal route but you took it once a week. You liked to watch the ducks but you had to avoid the geese.

You sipped from your straw and smiled at a dog as he passed with his owner and looked over at the kids laughing on the monkey bars. Your uniform tented in the heat of the summer sun but you pressed on, refreshed by the fruity tea.

When you emerged from the park, the grit of the small town returned. The chipped bricks of your building rose above you and you unlocked the front door after a struggle with the ancient keyhole. The door closed heavily behind you and you headed up the dingy stairs.

As you got to your apartment, you went through the usual to-do; lock, search, and settle in. Two months, maybe three, it felt so long ago and yet it felt like only yesterday. You couldn’t help but feel watched, followed, and you knew that sensation would follow you for the rest of your life. But if it was only ever a thought, you could be okay.

👥

Steve didn’t know what to do with himself at first. First, his girl left and then his best friend.

In the early days of his solace, he told himself it wasn’t true. They’d be back. They couldn’t live without him. They would apologize because they betrayed him. They would realise that he wasn’t the villain. He wasn’t wrong. He busied himself with his missions and waited.

But after two weeks, he saw no signs, heard no tell, nothing. He tried to follow her trail but there wasn’t anything past the state line. He asked where Bucky went but Stark wouldn’t tell and SHIELD kept that information classified from all, even him.

Then, he felt bad and he lingered on those questions that tugged at his mind. Was he wrong? Was he the bad one? Had he really hurt them? Did he deserve it all? He felt awful and fell through on a mission and no one asked any questions. No one knew the reasons for the sudden departures and the downcast captain.

Then he was mad. He was breaking things. He was growling and shouting in frustration. He ripped a door off its hinges and punched a hole through a wall. He paid for the repairs but was told in no short terms to leave the compound. He was all too happy too. He still had that apartment and it wasn’t too bad being in his own space.

But it made him think of her. And as he thought of her, he missed another mission, this time without telling anyone. Phone calls, emails, knocks on his door, they all muddled together in the haze of his thoughts.

He remembered those days, decades ago when Bucky had been his only friend. When he was a boy, when he still felt young, when he still felt like him. He remembered everything that came after and how he fought to save the only man he ever admired. Then everything he’d made him do. He didn’t make him do that, he gave him exactly what he wanted.

Then she made his chest squeeze. He thought of the first time they met. He didn’t think much of her but she somehow won him over with her kindness. He recalled the realisation of how much he liked her, he wasn’t even reluctant enough not to think it was love in that instant. When she saw the loose stitch in his glove and pulled it away like it was nothing. She remarked on the little fix as ‘perfect’ and he couldn’t help his doofy grin and the line he spouted after, ‘not as perfect as you.’

And as he thought of her, he conjured all those hopes he had for them. The life he made for them in his mind. He was going to give it all to her but he just wanted a little fun first. That wasn’t so bad. He could still give it to her and that was all she wanted after all. She wanted the Steve she knew. She wanted the nuclear family and white picket fence. He wanted that too.

When the papers came to announce his dismissal from SHIELD, it felt like freedom. He didn’t care about saving the world anymore. He got out of bed these days and worked out, went for a run, and came back as he went about his own work. As he searched through the servers they tried to block him from and overrode the new restrictions. They always thought he was some clueless idiot from the past.

He could still have that life. All he had to do was find her. He smiled at the screen as he went over everything he had so far. The whiff of her blew out at the stateline but now he could go wherever he wanted without a leash. He could find her if he only tried a little harder.

👥

Steve gave notice on the lease and traded in his car for something with better mileage and more space. He sold everything that was his life before and headed out on the road with a new lease on life. He wasn’t the Captain anymore, he wasn’t the saviour, he only wanted to be one thing; a husband, a father, hers.

When he reached the state line, he stopped for a while at a motel and asked around. He had her picture and everyone was all too eager to talk to Steve Rogers. He found her car at a used dealership and got the plates and make of the one he’d switched her for. That was a start.

Then he moved on, stopping along the way for a day here and there to relax. He had time. He had confidence again. He did this everyday, this was her first time, she couldn’t outrun him forever. He had the skills and the savings to get him a lot further than she ever could.

He drove through several more states before he hit another block. A second car traded but the dealer was not as talkative. That meant he had to break in after dark and that was time he didn’t feel like spending on some stubborn bitch. But he got it done and moved on.

Then there was a week of doubt and desperation. What if he was wrong? What if this was all a part of her plan? Maybe she was smart enough to lead him in the wrong direction. Maybe Bucky was helping her. Maybe they were together. That thought made him livid.

He took off in the opposite direction but ended up with nothing but desert heat and rural nothingness. He turned around and assured himself that neither of them were smarter than him. He returned to the same point and slowly pieced together the clues until he was sure enough to keep on.

He was getting close. He could sense it. He pulled out his phone and opened those videos he’d taken from Bucky and the pictures of that day they’d made a mess of her. His hand was nothing compared to her and even if he came, he found himself dissatisfied. He ended up cursing only to start again a minute later.

That night he started in the bed then ended up in the shower and before he could get out of the bathroom, he was gripping his dick as he leaned on the counter and muttered her name over and over. He was impatient. He needed her soon or he was going to go mad.

He hardly slept as he tossed and turned in the hotel room. He checked out early but pulled over on the country road to get off again. It made him angry. She should be the one fucking him, he shouldn’t be using his own hand. He shouldn’t be alone. She should be there with his dick down her throat as he drove them to their suburban paradise.

He passed another city sign and spent a day running circles without a catch. He pressed on through the night, not wanting another motel bed, and pulled in at a station just outside a small town. He gassed up and chewed on jerky as he set out once more.

On a whim, he stopped in the small town and stopped for a meal at the local fish and chip place. It was unusual for the area but the fries were crispy and not overly salted and the fish breaded perfectly. He kept his hat on and his face down. He didn’t need to be recognized although his poor disguise seemed to draw attention.

“Louise,” the voice chimed with the bell, “gosh, I’m so sorry, I almost forgot.”

Steve looked up as his heart fluttered. He saw the green uniform shirt and black pants and at first, he was ready to deflate. But the way she walked, and her face, the way she glowed and smiled at the woman behind the till, he knew it was her. He’d found her.

“I am so stupid! I keep forgetting everything,” she counted out the money from her wallet, “I’ve been craving this all week and I’m halfway home and I’m like oh my god,” she chattered on, that way she did when they’d first met.

“Not at all, darlin’,” Louise handed her the parcel of fish and chips, “you go on enjoy.”

“Thank you!” she sang sweetly and scurried back through the door.

Steve stood slowly and left his tab on the table with a thoughtlessly generous tip. He adjusted his cap and headed out the door slowly. She wasn’t moving as fast as she made her way down the street. She swung the tied parcel from her hand and he noticed how her hips swayed. There was something different about her, something he liked.

He kept the same pace, sure to hang back so that she didn’t notice him. She led him through a park and she stopped to smile at a party of ducks in the small pond. She carried on over the small bridge and he sat on a bench when she looked back. She didn’t seem to notice as an older couple passed him and he hid behind them.

He got back up just as she was at the exit. He trailed her back to the streets and to an old brick building with an iron sign above the front door. She let herself in and he stood outside with a smirk.

“Perfect,” he said to himself as he backed away and strode down the sidewalk, “always so perfect for me.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 31: Veritaserum

186 days.

That's how long Draco had been held in the Department of Mysteries, trapped in a cell that barely left him enough room to lie down except when they came to take him out and interrogate him.

Draco'd relived the horrors of the past two years, over and over through their invasive questioning, through their digging around in his mind, through the imperious curse, and most recently through a stint of days spent with veritaserum flowing through his veins.

He heard their footsteps coming down the hallway, their voices recapping what they'd learned so far. Day 6 of veritaserum. He used his nail to scratch another line in the wall next to his thin mattress.

187 days.

Then he heard a third voice, a voice he would have recognized anywhere. "Veritaserum?" Potter asked, sounding incredulous for some reason. "But that's illegal."

"Auror Potter, I'll remind you that you're out of your jurisdiction here. You have no say in what happens or the means used to collect intelligence that is invaluable when it comes to protecting future generations."

"And," the man, whose breath always smelled stale and turned Draco's stomach, added, "There are no 'laws' during wartime when we need to catch criminals."

"The war is over," Potter replied, voice sharp and something in the pit of Draco's stomach thrilled at that.

"Out of your jurisdiction," the woman reminded.

A moment later, there was a sharp rap of a wand against the metal bar of his cell and the man called, "Let's go, Malfoy."

He stood, moving toward the door with his head down, and that was when he felt it; the crackle of Potter's magic around him like static electricity.

Draco couldn't resist looking up at that, meeting Potter's eyes. The green was blazing, he's furious and Draco wondered what (or whom) that fury was directed at. His fists were clenched at his sides, shoulders stiff.

Even with all of the obvious tension, Potter looked good, Draco thought; healthy, strong, handsome, like he had the entire world at his feet. Which, to be fair, he probably did. He wondered what Potter saw when he looked at him.

(Read more below the cut)

"Move," the woman snapped and Draco dropped his gaze from Potter, his thoughts weren't his own, not really. He couldn't afford to allow even more trouble in his mind.

He staggered down the hall, his legs feeling like they were made out of jelly, and flinched when the door to the white room opened and bright, sterile light spilled out over him. Draco made his way in and sat down in the same chair he always sat it, the shackles immediately chaining his wrists and ankles down. He fought the inevitable wave of panic as the woman walked over.

"Drink," she instructed, holding a vial to his lips.

He clenched his hands but did as he was told because it only made things worse when he didn't comply. The veritaserum flooded his mind, making his mouth feel loose and his mind feel unpleasantly open.

"Last time we talked about the treatment of muggles and muggleborns in your home under He-who-must-not-be-named, do you remember?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Today we'd like to hear about your complicity," the woman said. "We want to hear about everything that you did and that other people did to people who opposed you."

"What was it like to live in your home with He-who-must-not-be-named?"

"Horrible," Draco answered honestly, trying to keep the thoughts and memories at bay as long as he could. "I lived like a prisoner."

"The truth!" the man demanded, even though Draco couldn't have lied if he wanted to. He drew his hand back, preparing to strike Draco and Draco closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.

Then there was a surge of magic so strong that it made Draco breathless. He waited for the inevitable pain but there was nothing and when he opened his eyes it was to see that both of the unspeakables had collapsed forward onto the table and Potter was standing in front of him.

"Malfoy," he said and the tone of his voice made it seem like it wasn't the first time he'd said it. "Come on," he urged. "We don't have much time."

He reached out and Draco took his hand uncertainly. This couldn't be real, could it?

"Malfoy," Potter pleaded, "Please, we have to go."

Draco staggered to his feet and followed the other man down a winding set of hallways, through moving doors, and all manner of strange things before they reached a passage that wasn't dark and vaguely terrifying.

"Here," Potter said, handing him a vial. "It's polyjuice potion. You're going to look like unspeakable Harrison. Once you look like him, we're just going to walk straight out, do your best to look calm. As soon as we're outside I'm going to apparate us."

"Potter," he finally managed, "Why are you doing this?"

Potter looked at him then, really looked at him, "Can we talk about this later?" he asked. "I swear I'm not trying to trick you," he added. "Please. Just let me help you."

At this point, what did Draco have to lose? What could be worse than this? He took the potion from Potter's hand and quickly swallowed it down, trying not to gag at the unpleasant taste as his body shifted and changed.

"Keep your head down," Potter said, "Don't answer any questions. You'll still have the veritaserum in your bloodstream."

Draco nodded and Potter opened the door, it was like he morphed into a completely different person. He smiled jovially as he strode across the foyer, waving and greeting people every step of the way. Every eye in the room was on Potter and it made Draco's skin crawl to have attention focused so near to him.

It felt like an eternity but it couldn't have been more than 45 seconds before they were out of the door and Potter was offering him his elbow, "Harry Potter lives at Number 12 Grimmauld Place," he murmured.

And before Draco could ask what the bloody hell he was talking about, Potter was apparating the two of them away. They landed in the Black Ancestral Home and Draco was shocked. And confused.

So confused.

"Hold on," Potter said. "We're not out of the woods yet. Too many people know about this place." He picked up a copy of a book called Treasure Island off the side table. "Portkey," he explained quickly, "Hold on." And then as almost an after thought, he added, "Harry Potter lives at 4 Oceanview Lane."

Draco took the other side of the book and felt the hook and tug behind his belly button as they were moved through time and space.

This time when they landed, it was in soft, soft sand, and Draco staggered, trying to catch his balance. Potter clasped his elbow to steady him, "Alright?" he asked softly.

Draco nodded, "Yes," he found himself compelled to add, the Veritaserum still hadn't quite faded from his veins.

"Come on," Potter said, giving him a gentle tug toward a little cottage just up the beach.

It was a lovely little house, lots of windows and glass doors overlooking the ocean. The walls were painted in cool beiges and light blues and white curtains fluttered in the breeze.

"Are you hungry?" Potter called over his shoulder after he kicked off his shoes and headed deeper into the house.

"Starving," Draco replied and Potter turned to look at him, frowning.

"When is the last time you ate?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. Time passed funny in there. I tried to keep track," he said, "but I don't really know."

Potter's frown deepened, "Come on. Let me show you your room," he said. "I picked up some clothes for you but we'll have to go shopping later so you an pick out what you like."

"Potter," he said as he followed the other man toward the back of the house, "I don't understand."

"You're free, Draco," the other man said. "Well, not entirely because they'll be looking for you. But you're safe here, safe with me. I won't let them find you and I won't let them take you back," he added with a firm nod.

"Potter," he called again, "This doesn't even make sense."

"Please," Potter said, as though he was well aware of how little sense this all made. "I just," his shoulders slumped a bit, "I found out they were keeping you locked up in there like," he shook his head, "Like some-"

"Criminal?" Draco offered.

"Worse," Potter said, shaking his head. "And it was wrong and no one would listen to me. So this is the best I can do," he said, gesturing at the cottage around him. "A little house in the Seychelles. No one even knows this place exists except for Ron and Hermione," he added.

"i don't understand," Draco said, leaning against the wall to support himself.

"I know," Potter said, "Just. Can you trust me for now? We can talk about it more when you're not so exhausted. Come in," he added, gesturing to the room.

Draco stepped through the door to a room with hardwood floors and white walls, with a sliding glass door that lead out into the sand and the ocean beyond. The bed was covered in soft white bedding and a door at the side of the room led to a bathroom with a proper bathtub and a shower.

He was dreaming, he had to be.

"There are some things in the drawers over there for you to wear," Potter said, sounding a touch anxious. "We'll find you things you like better whenever you're ready."

He stepped over and reached out a hand to touch the bed but pulled up short when he caught sight of his filthy hands. "This is for me?" he asked, looking over at Potter.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "There's a second room across the hall that I'm in, if you'd rather have that one, but I thought you might like to be able to see the ocean."

"I don't know what to say," he said.

"Say you'll stay," Potter asked. "At least until we can get your name cleared."

"I don't think that's ever going to happen."

Potter sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Maybe, but can we just cross that bridge when we get there?" he asked.

"Okay," Draco said because this was all so strange, everything felt surreal, but Potter seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at his acquiescence.

"I'll go make us some lunch," he said quickly. "Do you want to freshen up first?"

Draco nodded, "If that's okay?"

"Yeah," Potter said, nodding, "Yeah. Anything you want." He gave Draco a little smile, "Towels are in the cupboard on the left when you go into the bathroom; there's soap, shampoo, conditioner, and the like in the shower," he added. "I'll be in the kitchen. Just shout if you need anything."

Draco watched him go, still very confused. But for the first time in a very long time, just a little bit hopeful.

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

Part 2 to this story is up! Read it here.

Part 3 is up! You can read it here.

Read Part 4 here!

Part 5

Day 30: Likeness | Day 32: After Wedding Fluff

Ahh! Nonnie. I did not anticipate loving this prompt so much. I could hardly bring myself to stop writing. Thanks so much for this prompt.

If y'all want more of this story, please drop me an ask or leave a comment. I'd definitely be up for writing more if people want to read it. :)

[dameronology]

it's no use, i just do {bucky barnes}

'if i just wanted someone to hold, then really anyone would do/i'd close my eyes and really try not to turn them into you, but it's no use, i just love you' - no use i just do, hayley williams

(a.k.a: the one where bucky needs a hug, but specifically from you)

eugh more bucky stuff from my drafts? yes. i think so. truth be told, I started writing this like 3 months ago (whenever flowers for vases came out) but it's been sat collecting dust. enjoy :-)

- jazz xx

p.s this is spoiler free!

The nights were always hardest for Bucky Barnes.

The dark always reminded him of the furthest corners of his mind; the ones holding his worst memories, skeletons collecting dust, rotting away until he forgot about them completely or forced them out with intensive therapy. Both were options that he was completely dreading - so he forced them down, forced them to the back and did everything within his power to ignore. It was easy enough during the day, when he was surrounded by his friends, occupied by work and the buzz of New York City.

Then the sun went away, and with the rising of the moon came the echoes and ghosts of Winter Soldier's past. Thanks to the likes of Netflix and YouTube, the modern world was filled with enough things to distract Bucky from the grips of his own mind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

And tonight was one of the nights where it didn't. Every time he shut his eyes - squeezed them shut and gripped onto his thin blankets like a flimsy anchor to the present - he got flashbacks. Reminders of the things he'd done and the people he'd hurt. They always had the same look in their eyes, whenever they flashed into his mind. He couldn't see it then, but now he could feel again, he knew it was fear. The same look he had in his eyes every time he was clamped into a chair and forced to have the last remaining ounce of his humanity wiped.

Bucky's hold-ups about his feelings for you seemed almost comical compared to the problems he dealt with then. But he could feel more now, which meant his brain was so hyperaware of every little thing he felt for you; love, attachment, fear. All things that were enough to send him into a spiral, even if the feeling of your arms around him and lips meshed against his was the first reminder of his humanity since nineteen-forty-fucking-five.

Distance had felt like the answer. Cutting you out completely and acting like he hadn't fallen into your bed every night for six months seeking comfort. It was kind of a dick move, but it was one you understood. Actually, no, it wasn't, because you didn't understand a single thing the man ever fucking did. That's probably why you'd let him go so easily - people came and went. Maybe he was just supposed to be the latter.

How was it going, you ask? Given that Bucky had elbowed his way into your apartment complex at 3AM and was pacing outside your front door - pretty fucking terribly. Normally, he wasn't that bad at resisting the urge to seek you out, but tonight had been hard. Too hard. His hands were still shaking, shirt still sticking to his back with sweat. The nightmares had been...visual, to say the least. He felt like a monster, and you were the only person he trusted enough to convince him otherwise.

"Hey, dumbass. I have a Ring doorbell - what the fuck are you doing out there?"

Bucky jumped at the sound of your voice. Technology: 1. Barnes: 0.

The front door swung open, revealing a tired-looking you. Your hair was pushed back off your face, large nightshirt swamping your body. He knew you got mad when your beauty sleep was interrupted, but you got even madder when he suffered in silence.

"I..." Bucky trailed off.

"Nightmares. I know." You stepped aside. "Come in."

You didn't push any further, or berate him for his radio silence over the last few weeks. He was grateful for that. You were the only person who didn't ask so many questions all the time. Bucky didn't mind talking, but recounting his entire life story to Sam Wilson whilst they drove to Walmart wasn't his idea of fun.

Your apartment still felt homier than his. The walls were covered in photos of you and your friends and family, and shitty little drawings done by your various, younger relatives. Your fridge had postcards and letters hung on it, and there was clutter all over the kitchen counter. The thousands of pillows piled high on your sofa were practically a safe haven. There was a soft scent of vanilla hanging in the air from all your little diffusers, making him smile slightly.

"You got new curtains?" Bucky helplessly pointed to your window.

"How very observant of you." You placed a hand on his arm as you brushed past him. "What's going on, Buck?"

"With my life, or just tonight?"

"I don't think we have time for the first one." You fell onto the sofa. "Sit."

He took a seat beside you; not on you, but close enough so that your knees were touching. "Every time I close my eyes, I remember."

"That wasn't you." You gently reminded him, reaching out to push his hair back. "Not then and not now."

"I still did it though." He held his hands out in front of him. "These are the hands that killed innocent people. This is the brain that felt no empathy or remorse."

"No." You firmly said. "Those are the hands that fought in Wakanda, for the good fight. This is the brain that comes up with the worst jokes I've ever heard and regularly forgets to buy toilet roll."

His blue eyes wavered from the floor, capturing your gaze. He suddenly fell back against you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your chest. Everybody else went out their way to make him seem like a monster or a saint - but you? You just made him seem like a human. There wasn't a single perfect one of those. Steve Rogers probably came close, but he was a fucking terrible driver.

"I..." Bucky trailed off. He knew what he wanted to say. Just didn't have the courage to verbalise it. "I appreciate you."

"I know." You murmured, carding a hand through his hair.

Bucky had gone to therapy. He'd taken up exercise (and boxercise and jazzercise) and yoga. He'd tried those stupid fucking cleansing smoothies that his neighbour had sold him - at the time, he had yet been introduced to the idea of multilevel marketing schemes - and gone to meditation classes. None of it worked. Not for a single second.

Then you came in the picture, and he began to see colour etched into the edges of an otherwise black and white world. Where there had been nightmares and flashbacks, he'd found a peaceful night's sleep and pleasant dreams (normally of you, truth be told). The simplicity of it was what made it so complex - because he didn't understand it. Couldn't get his head around the fact that you actually, genuinely wanted to help him.

And he knew it wasn't just your touch or the softness of your skin against his. He'd tried it - sleeping with strangers and staying around the morning after to cuddle. Anything to find human contact with the emotion and the commitment; the very two components that were the secret ingredients to the two of you working so fucking nicely.

"Thank you." Bucky murmured.

"For what?"

"For just..." He glanced up at you, blue eyes holding an emotion you couldn't quite place, "treating me like everyone else. Like a normal person."

"You are a normal person." You softly smiled. "Maybe with a little more baggage, but to the right person, that won't matter."

"Does it matter to you?"

"That's a trap." You thinned your eyes at him. "But no, it doesn't."

He tightened his grip on you, the fear and anxiety draining from his soul. He knew now more than ever that the comfort didn't come from the way he was being held, or the way he was being spoken to. It was who was holding him, and who was speaking to him. You came out on top, every time.

That was why it worked.

It was you. And there was nothing he could do about it.