#and then there was nothing on ao3 :( and i was super duper sad

[notnights]

This is gonna be long because im an overthinker AND an overtalker- sorry in advance 😭

alright so i found out you wrote a fic for Ribbuns and immediately went off to check it out, and the tags actually scared me cause my taste for ribbun fics is smthn cute and fluffy- bc they get enough hate as it is, i didnt want them to hate eachother as well lol. Idk, the tags made it seem as if there wouldnt have been a happy ending where they both end up liking eachother.

BUT once I read it!! yes it started off negative, Gangle hating him and the overall relationship theme being kinda toxic (its probably tame but im not mentally strong for this ok) although its deserved since, you know, Jax. No hate to him or anything, the fic says it all lmao

but the way you write them-- it made me open my eyes to this type of relationship between them, particularly on how Gangle had- what, a power trip?- in this relationship, treating Jax badly but him still loving her. Woke smthn up in me frfr; ESPECIALLY THIS (along with more scenes but i esp like the power Gangle is shown to have here over him):

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He shuts up when she says his name though. Nothing more, just a clear command to stop and a quick glance up to his face. Will question why that tickles her brain later.(Acetate Tears, Chapter 1)

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this made me fall in love (as well as understand the trope more) for power trips in toxic love.

Almost made me change teams, to look for angsty toxic ribbun content despite my mentality, until:

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Jax leans into her, pounces. Gives her silly wet kisses. She gives a squeaky scream. Weakly attempts to push him away from her, despite knowing she deserves this. Well maybe not this specifically , but some form of punishment. (same source)

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THIS made me giggle and kick my feet in glee, reminding me of my love for soft kisses in fics

TLDR; your fic is honestly one of the best Ribbun fics ive read so far (im still digging through the tags!! I'm desperate for more!!) and it also awoken smthn in me that i tried to ignore hehe.

I LOVE your perception on their relationship, their behaviours, mindset, everything! Here's to hoping you'll write more ribbun, but its ok if u dont!! 🐰🎀

(im not good with words, but i hope my love for your fic is shared thru this jumble of words lol. I also hope episode 4 gives more depth to Ribbun's relationship that can bring more supporters instead of hate, since its gonna be focused on Gangle🤲)

((OH and im sharing my thoughts here instead of ao3 bc i'm super duper shy for no reason -carbon footprint scares me- and somehow tumblr asks in anon mode isnt as scary. Again, srry im saying so much 💀You dont hv to answer this since its long and not rlly an ask lmao))

Aw hey this is sweet thank you! You're all good, I am also an overthinker and overtalker (if that hasn't been apparent by the way I answer asks already) so I get it!

the tags actually scared me... Idk, the tags made it seem as if there wouldnt have been a happy ending where they both end up liking eachother.

Hey that's alright! That's what the tags are for to make sure this is something a potential reader can handle or get prepare for! The unfortunate thing is I obviously don't want to give away too much with them such as the happy ending, so I totally understand if it wards some people off. Respect for those who know their limits!

I also wanted to leave the ending a bit ambiguous as to if they truly ended up together or not. And depending on what you're hoping for with the story might not be the happy ending [Ganlge voice] you were hoping for.

particularly on how Gangle had- what, a power trip?- in this relationship, treating Jax badly but him still loving her.

One of my favorite things in stories about relationships is that one brings out something in the other they didn't know they needed to let out. Helps balance themselves out. Jax lets Gangle let out more than just "sadness" he lets her find out she's more than a pity party, she has anger to release and resentment to express (among other emotions). She has more than two emotions.

And while this is primarily a comment on Gangle, (this ain't about Jax right now...) Gangle lets Jax find out he's someone capable of relinquishing and receiving of love (the thing about him hating the idea of them having a "happily ever after.")

THIS made me giggle and kick my feet in glee, reminding me of my love for soft kisses in fics

Glad to hear it! I do really like Jax and Gangle being cute. But I like it more when it's after all the hard stuff. One of those well earned things. A cold glass of lemonade after mowing the grass. Eating something salty before eating something sweet and it makes it taste even sweeter!

A lot of folks make cute Jax and Gangle content that it makes me forget I don't make enough of it. Those of y'all who make cute stuff balance out whatever the hell I'm doing over here! So thanks for that.

All these things are very kind of you to say also! Thank you! It means a lot that you came to say them even though you were so shy!

Good luck with your searching! I hope you find more that you enjoy.

And yess I'm very excited for the Gangle episode either if it has some interaction between them or not. Because while I ship them and they're my two favorite characters, as my boyfriend describes "you just like Jax as an accessory to Gangle." Oops! Here's two hoping that sticker set implies there is some more meaningful interaction between them there.

[99redragons]

Part of the Madness Ch.2 - Relic

There's some consequences to running around dimension-hopping with a wound.

Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Altered Mental State, Hospitals, Injury

Read on AO3 Ch.1

His dreams were of Betty. He kept trying to find her, speak to her, but his mouth became full of snow and his feet were blocks of ice. “No, Betty, stay!” He tried to say. He heard the whispers of ice and snow, the secrets he’d known while insane, pulsing through his brain “NO ICE!” He shouted, while burning alive. He called for Marceline, apologizing, crying for his little girl to forgive him, fighting off oozers that never ended and his own brain slipping away from him. He felt crazy, his mouth dry, his arm burning, his head splitting in pain. He saw shadows where there were none, visions crowding him, the air thick with them. He whispered his own name to himself in the depths of his fever, for fear he would forget. Afraid he would forget her.

Eventually, the dreams faded.

He next woke up on a bed, not the couch, and the scent of candy in the air told him where he was.

“Dude.” The familiar tone of Finn’s voice sounded from next to him. Everything was fuzzy, and swirly, and he thinks he might throw up-

“You already did, dude. Marceline, he’s awake!” He called behind him, and Ice King smiled, wait, no, something was wrong with that, Ice King was gone, right? 

“My little Marcy?” He croaked faintly, and his head hurt, his arm hurt, and he struggled to stop from fighting as suddenly Princess Bubblegum was there beside him, and he slurred, “Princess… a beautiful princess, by my bedside? Heh heh heh…” 

“Dude, he’s really out of it, wow.”

“He has a very high fever, Finn, go get Marcy, I’m going to make sure he stays in bed this time- Simon! Stop wriggling, you’re going to open the wound again!” She chastised him, and he just kept laughing, and laughing, through the pain.

“Simon! Bonnie, is he okay- woah.” Marcy burst through the door, halting at the laughter, then hastily coming to help hold him still while PB slipped a sling over his head.

“There, now he shouldn’t move and damage his stitches- he’ll be okay, Marcy.” 

She stopped, frowning at the look on Marceline’s face, and had he done that? Oh, no-

“I’m sorry Marcy, I didn’t mean to make you sad, Marcy, I’ll be good- no more crown-“ he stopped as she started tearing up, her face crumpling in that way he was so uncomfortably familiar with. “Woah, woah, what’d I say?”

She stopped, and scrubbed her face, PB coming up on that side of the bed to hold the hand that wasn’t holding Simon’s. It was nice, her cold hand in his. He felt very hot, and wasn’t that funny? Him, too hot! He tried and failed to keep down more giggles, eyes traveling around the room and seeing nothing clearly.

“You didn’t say anything, Simon, it’s okay.” She managed, and let PB guide her to sitting at the chair set beside him. “You have a fever, but it’s okay, PB and Doctor Ice Cream are here, you’re going to be okay. The infection isn’t that bad, Bonnie said.”

PB nodded. “I had to redo your stitches—did you do them yourself!?—But the fever’s not too dangerous. Now, if you two don’t mind, can I ask you some questions, Simon?” She brought up a clipboard.

“Sure, darling,” he murmured. 

“Your full name?” He almost didn’t notice Marcy intake breath suddenly, she tried to hide it.

“Simon. Simon Petrikov,” he answered, and saw them both relax fractionally.

“Good. Do you know where you are?” 

“The Candy Kingdom?” They relaxed more.

“Good. And who am I?” 

“Princess Bubblegum.” 

“How old are you?”

He snickered. “One thousand fifty-eight.”

The two women let out a barely audible sigh.

“I’m all jacked-up, huh?” He said, voice loopy.

Marceline managed a smile, her tears gone, “Heckin jacked, man,”

“How are you feeling? Besides jacked,” PB continued professionally. “Any pain?”

Simon nodded, the movement making his head bloom in pain- he tried harder to stay still after that. “My arm hurts, and my head, and I feel super duper loopy! Heh heh…” he trailed off in little chuckles again, unable to control his filter. 

“Some of that is the pain meds we gave you. You’ve been down with a high fever for two days.” PB explained.

“Days!?” He exclaimed, sitting up more before he thought better of it and doubling over, “Fionna- I need to check- where’s my phone?” He blathered, realizing he was just in a simple gown under the sheet.

Finn, wandering back in. heard him and frowned. “Fionna… from your fanfiction?” He ventured awkwardly. 

Simon felt shame and desperation twist in his gut “I know how it sounds, but they’re real now- they always were, and now they’re authorized!” He begged for him to believe him.

“Authorized?” Finn asked, confused.

“It’s true, LSP confirmed it,” PB said. “Simon, lay back down. Your phone is here with your things.”

“Wait, hold up, what did LSP tell you?” Finn held a hand up, mild suspicion in his gaze.

“That a new hero with a singing cat showed up and trashed the market in the woods,” PB explained. “It was the talk of Ooo, you know how LSP is. The kid who helped them said they were the Fionna and Cake, and very insistent about it. Then everyone saw them vanish.”

“Not the first time we’ve had alternate universe adventures, I’ll believe it,” Finn shrugged, and it was that simple with him.

“He told me everything, Finn, I believe him too. They’re real.” Marcy added.

“Girl me is real!” Finn tightened his fists, eyes glittering in excitement. “I bet she’s awesome!”

Simon chuckled at Finn’s excitement. “That she is,” he murmured. He gratefully took his phone with his one hand not in a sling, hand still shaky. “My glasses- where-“ PB handed him those too, but they didn’t help that much, and looking at the tiny screen made his head hurt. Everything was all swimmy.

“Let me,” Marcy offered. 

“Okay,” he gave in, handing her the phone. “Call her.”

She did, and soon a voice came over the phone. “Simon, are you okay? It’s been days!”

“I’m fine, Fionna,” he rasped.

“Woah, you sound rough, are you su-“

“He is not fine!” Marcy burst out. “He has an infected wound that he left untreated for days, and he’s in the hospital now!”

“Geez, Simon! ...Who is that?”

“That’s Marcy, my ward.” He answered. 

“Girl Marshall!! I bet she’s super pretty!!” She blasted through the little speaker.

“She is,” he answered simply, while Marcy blushed a little. PB held her hand over her mouth, amused. 

“Fionna?” Finn ventured. 

“Woah, how many people are there? Yep, it’s Fionna!”

“And Cake!!” Could be heard faintly. Finn rubbed his chest where his Jake tattoo was briefly. 

“I’m Finn, nice to meet you,” he said, a bit in wonder.

“Oh! Boy version of me! Awesome!!” She shouted.

“Are you alright over there, Fionna? How is everyone?” Simon cut in. 

“Everyone’s getting there, all in all, the damage could have been worse, a lot worse. We’re all working together on clearing rubble away and the injured are getting treated. Me and Cake mostly hanging with Marshall and Gary and Hunter. And Ellis P is here too, I guess. Everyone’s fine. Everything is okay, thanks to you, Simon.” She said warmly.

He let out a huge sigh of relief he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Fionna and Fionna-world was alright, still. “I’m glad.” He croaked.

“Now Simon, you get some rest, mister! I’ve gotta go, but nice meeting everyone! I’ll text you with my new phone, Simon! Bye!” She called, and hung up. Marcy returned him the phone and he lay back finally. 

“She’s right, he needs to rest. Everyone else out!” PB called, ushering Finn out of the room, letting Marcy stay.

They sat in the quiet of the hospital room for a monment, then Marcy said, “You were really weird with a fever,” half amused half somber. 

“I bet I was,” he murmured, and spotted the glass of water on the table beside them. 

“Here, let me help you, Marcy offered. 

She gently moved the glass to where he could take hold of it, head propped up on pillows for him to drink.

“Reminds me of the time I was sick and you got me chicken soup. Do… do you remember that?” She asked, the most Marceline would ever hesitate.

“Of course I do,” he said, an echo of a hundred times he’d said it before, heavy on his throat, but warm, and reassuring. 

She smiled back, full-teeth, a smile he’d only ever seen after he became him again for the first time due to Bella Noche. A smile not shy about her teeth. Actually happy.  He really liked that smile. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, instead of you worried me, what the heck, Simon, you left an open wound untreated for days, Simon!

He appreciates what he can get. “I’m okay,” he says, a bit petulant. He didn’t like a big fuss being made over him.

“I- it suppose this wasn’t on purpose, so it’s fine,” she says after a long moment. “But what the hell.” Oh, there it was. She was still chill, at least.

“It’s okay, Marcy, I’m old, this stuff happens,” he said, as if that had anything to do with it. 

“It can’t, Simon, not anymore.” She was serious. Uh oh.

“Uh oh.” He croaked.

“You will take care of yourself—I don’t care what Finn does.” She was nearly shaking with the effort to not hiss. “You’re human, Simon.”

“I know.” He said, and it was only a little bitter. 

“You can’t be reckless anymore, I thought we’d been through this. Not after—“

“Not after I became not Ice King,” he said, and surprised himself he’d said it aloud.

“Y-yeah.” She said, taken aback. “I don’t run your life, and Ooo is just dangerous, I get it, but man.” She sighed with her eyes closing for a moment, tucking a stray lock of hair back.

“I know, Marcy.” He said again evenly.

“And I know you were running around from the Scarab and rarely resting, but dude!”

“We didn’t really have time in the Winter King dimension, and most of the other time we were running or fighting,” he said, not defensively.

“Yeah! But dude!” Her head fell in her hands. She’d floated up so she was looking down at him now, and she forced out a huge sigh.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, Marcy, it just slipped my attention, really.” It wouldn’t’ve mattered if I’d put the Crown on, anyways, he thought guiltily. 

“Simon. Simon this is important, please. You can do this,” she encouraged, because she wasn’t all mad, really she wasn’t mad at all, just frustrated with her weird, weird dad. He knew the look from every time he could recall through fuzzy, vision-filled memories. Barely a face, but he’d know it was hers, and it would be frowning, angry, sad. He hated making her frown.

“Okay,” he agreed with her, like he always did, though he didn’t always follow through with promises, they were both painfully aware. “What do you want me to say, Marcy?” He asked quietly, and he sounded so damn tired, showing his age for the rare occasion. He wasn’t even that old, damnit. He was trying, though.

“Just—I need you—Simon, you can’t regard yourself as disposable. Please.“

That was a tall order. Even the vague emotions and impressions he’d had while Ice King he’d always felt forgettable, the last thought, unlikeable. He just wanted someone to tell him what in hell he was supposed to do now. Instead he said,

“Aw, you don’ need me anymore, Marcy.”

She sniffed suddenly, hard, and he realized he’d mucked up. “Oh no. Marcy, I’m sorry, I just, you’ve outgrown me, the whole world has. I’m a relic of the past.” He murmured, “It’s how things are,” he added.

“I’m not a relic, and neither are you!” She insisted, hands fisting by her sides. “You’re more my dad than my real dad ever is, Simon, you know that. I do need you.”

He didn’t know how to respond, guilt and affection warring in his gut.

“Not just me either, man. Finn really needs your friendship after Jake… and Fionna-world needed you, you can’t think—“

“I understand, Marcy,” and he thinks he is starting to, truly. 

She watched his expression carefully, searching his eyes, and seemed to find what she was looking for or gave up, because she collapsed back into the chair with a sigh and then let out a chuckle, “If you get it then don’t be such a dink donk, old man,” she said with deep affection. He smiled back.

They both chuckled for a while.

“Oh shoot, I almost forgot,” Marcy shot up.

“What?” He rasped.

“Uh, well, how is your head, Simon?” 

“Achy. Achy all over, really, but my heads the worst.” He answered honestly. 

“Bonnie asked me to see if we can get a cool cloth on your head, for the fever. They tried to give you an ice pack while you were out, but…”

He winced “I think I remember that it didn’t go well, did it?”

“No,” she confirmed, a similar expression on her face. “If I brought you a cool wet cloth, do you think you could…?” 

He was already nodding, “Please,”

She nodded back, went and came back with one. “Ready?” She asked. He nodded, and she gently placed it on his forehead. He resisted letting out a hiss at the frigid-feeling water. He took a few deep breaths, and eventually relaxed into it—it did help with the pain. “Thank you, darling,” he murmured. 

She smiled at him, and after saying if he needed anything he should call, she floated away to leave him to rest, and no doubt to check in with her girlfriend. 

He sighed heavily into the pillows, and eventually, fitfully slept.

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

Soul Bound

Chapter Ten- And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

Also posted on AO3 and Wattpad!

Trigger warnings- descriptions on medical treatments for cancer, implied abuse, and mentions of marijuana.

Authors note- hope y'all don't mind Arons lore drop. This is mostly a filler chapter to be completely honest.

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had

I find it hard to tell you 'cause I find it hard to take

When people run in circles, it's a very, very

Mad world

Mad World- Gary Jules, Michael Andrews version

Piano.

Aron had always loved the piano, the first instrument she’d ever learned to play. The earliest memory she has of them was from when she was a young child, around nine years old. She had blonde hair and big, bright blue-green eyes that were filled with curiosity. She also had a sunburn from swimming in the pool with her kid sister and father the day before, nothing unusual in the Florida summer heat.

She was sitting in her friend's, watching as the slightly older girl had pulled out a small, colorful keyboard. The friend decided to indulge in Aron’s interest and teach her a simple song. ‘Mary had a little lamb.’

Aron had a focused expression on her face as she watched the brown-haired girl easily play the keys. It fascinated her, seeing someone create a tune so effortlessly. She wasn’t jealous, but she certainly felt envious. “You’re so good at that!”

The girl chuckled. “Thanks! This song is super-duper easy.”

She showed Aron a few more times before they decided it was time to give her a try. The first few times, she’d get the key wrong and have to restart. Of course, the young girl would get frustrated, forcing laughs as her friend joked at her expense. Though even as she made jokes, she would correct Aron’s mistakes effectively. It wasn’t long before Aron perfected the simple tune.

As soon as Aron returned home, she went to her dad. He was tall and a bit thin with what some could see as a beer belly, though Aron knew the actual cause of his enlarged abdomen was a tumor. He had tan skin and dark, thinning hair with eyes that were similar to Arons except greener. Even at her young age, Aron could see the exhaustion in them. As soon as he saw his daughter, he lit up and grinned at her. “Hey!”

He was currently sitting in the recliner, Aron’s little sister sitting on his lap as she watched football with him, though she rested far to the left side. He had a black bag resting over the right side of his stomach with wires sticking out of it that connected to his central venous catheter, a tube that traveled through his vein and pumped chemo into his body. Aron didn’t glance at it for any more than a moment; she knew he hated when a big deal was made about it, especially his own young children.

Aron ran over and carefully hugged him, avoiding his pump almost instinctively. “Daddy! Guess what I did at her house!”

“What did you do?” he asked her curiously, making the child giggle.

“I played piano!” she said excitedly, smiling widely. “It was so fun! I loved it and I was really bad at it for the first times I played but then I got better and it was so cool.”

“Good job!” he praised her, giving her a high five. 

She smiled more at his approval. “I want one! Can we please get one?”

Their dad chuckled in response, giving the typical speech about how her birthday would be coming up in a few months. Aron didn’t press farther than that, leaving the hope in the back of her mind that she would receive one.

Just as she hoped, a distant aunt bought her a keyboard for her tenth birthday. It was marketed specifically for children; small and purple with pink star designs and a fake microphone with it, along with a stand that connected to the electronic piano. 

Aron was over the moon, playing and singing with it at any chance she got. She would put up small concerts for her father when he was sick, singing soft melodies as she played simple chords. Along with art and dance, it was something she showed passion in. Sometimes she would play a song with the recorder on, letting it replay the tune as she danced.

The world shifted from her dad’s room. A soft melody continued to play as Aron, now at her current age, looked around and checked out her surroundings. There was a slight smell of rain in the air, a bit of coolness from the approaching winter. She recognized the area, a patch of woods nearby her previous parental guardian's house. She’d come here with her cousin frequently as a young teen, smoking weed and listening to music while hiding from approaching cars with the fear it was a family member.

Aron smiled wistfully at the memory. As awful as living in that part of Florida was, as awful as her family members were, as much as it destroyed her self-esteem, it was hard to deny that time period had some of her best memories.

It was bittersweet.

Aron walked peacefully through the forestland, listening to the piano. The tempo was soft and peaceful, like carnival music. It was a bit creepy, but Aron didn’t mind.

Soon however, the pace began to pick up. She felt an uneasiness in her chest as she tried to force her breathing to stay even and calm. The melody got faster, making it sound almost sinister. Like something one would hear in a horror film. As it continued to get quicker and quicker, Aron felt like there were eyes on her, watching her every move. 

Her walking sped up to almost a jog, speeding up with the creepy tune. The cadence became extremely quick, the notes sounding like they were erratically and carelessly slammed down on. Aron began to sprint through the forest, ignoring the branches that cut and seemed to grab her arms.

She wasn’t sure why she ran, but it was the only thing she could do to get away, though she wasn’t sure what she was running from. She ran for what felt like hours, trying to find her way out of the woods that she once knew so well. Her legs burnt and her sides ached, sweat beading down her face as she bolted through the forest.

Until suddenly, it stopped.

Aron was no longer hot and panting for air, the trees fading away as a new smell entered her nose; salt water.

Her world was transformed into the beach in moments, white sand under her bare feet as the suddenly hot air warmed up her skin and the breeze blew her hair slightly. She looked around, seeing the beach empty with the exception of Erik, who was standing a few feet away from her in his usual attire.

“I figured you would prefer this over running through the woods, Princess,” Erik said with a soft smile.

Aron couldn’t help but smile at him. “I’m dreaming?”

He nodded. “You are.”

She suddenly had a memory of her first night in the mansion, when Erik had shown up in her dream to protect her from Malix. She hummed and looked around, a content expression on her face. The beach held some of her most fond childhood memories. “Thank you,” she told him.

“It’s my pleasure,” Erik said, stepping closer to her. “As much as I would love to take a swim with you, you are about to wake up.”

She sighed. “That sucks.”

He chuckled. “Indeed, it does, Princess.”

“Maybe we could go to the real beach one day,” she mused. “I haven’t been in forever.”

Erik smiled. “That sounds fun, indeed.”

Aron nodded in agreement, looking around and sighing. The soft sound of a piano continued to play, but it was quiet and comforting. She and Erik spent the rest of the time quietly, simply enjoying the view until she awoke.

When Aron woke up, she still felt exhaustion so deep that it seemed to reach her bones. Even so, she got up and got dressed for the day. She put on some long, black basketball shorts and a white tank top with a red zip up jacket.

As she got ready for the day, she felt deep in thought. She still wasn’t sure what to do about Sam. She wasn’t even sure how she felt, or if she wanted to try again with him. Did she love him? Did she want to be with him?

She shook off the thought and went out to the dining room. She glanced out through the window, seeing all of the boys training, aside from Matthew. She figured Erik had woken up and went outside in the time she was getting ready.

Before she could go look for Matthew, she heard his voice from the kitchen. “Hi! How’d you sleep?”

She looked over at him and smiled softly. “I slept okay, Erik came in my dreams,” she said. “What about you?”

He grinned. “I slept pretty good! I’m taking a break from training to cook some food, wanna help?”

Aron shrugged. “Sure, what are we making?” she asked, walking with him into the kitchen.

“Well, we haven’t had the chance to go grocery shopping, so I’m thinking of making something simple. Maybe chicken and rice?”

She nodded. “That sounds good.”

It didn’t take long to start preparing the food. They pulled out the ingredients for it and got to work. While they waited for the rice to finish, Aron leaned against the counter and spaced out a bit. 

Matthew must have noticed. “Aron? You okay?”

She blinked and looked at him quickly, before nodding and smiling. “Yeah, just tired.”

He nodded. “That makes sense, things have been pretty hectic for you recently.”

She sighed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yeah…” Matthew came over and stood by her. “But hey! At least now we all know the truth, right?”

Aron frowned at that. She wasn’t sure if she believed them yet. She wanted to, but her mind still doubted it. She tried to sense any spells on her and couldn’t, so she thought it was safe to say they hadn’t tried to sway her opinion. “...right.”

“Have you tried to talk to Sam yet?” he asked her curiously.

She shook her head and rubbed her face. “Nah, I was about to, but Andrew showed up.”

He hummed. “Well maybe you can talk to him later?”

“I mean, I could. But I don’t know what I would say,” she told him honestly.

“Well, you could…” Matthew trailed off for a minute. “Um…I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out!”

Aron huffed out a laugh. “Thanks.”

“No problem!”

After a few moments of quiet, she spoke. “Hey Matthew?”

“Yeah?”

Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Do you think Sam still loves me?”

He raised his brows in shock. “Well, um…I’m not sure. It’s possible, but you’d have to ask him. But I think the real question here is if you still love Sam. Do you?”

Aron froze. Did she?

She felt a wave of relief when James walked in, giving her an out. “Goodmorning, Aron.”

“Goodmorning,” she responded. 

“What's up? Are you taking a break?” Matthew asked.

���I think I have figured out a way to stop Malix once and for all,” James announced.

Aron perked up. “Really? How?”

“Perhaps we should discuss it during lunch, so that everyone is present.”

She nodded. “Okay, that works!”

Soon, Aron and Matthew finished cooking the food. As they set the table, she felt anxious about his question, repeating it to herself. Did she still love Sam? 

She decided to focus on the threat of Malix instead of her complicated feelings, feeling a bit of relief at the possibility James may have found a solution.

[juuls]

LOOK WHO FELL INTO A NEW SHIP AGAIN.

No, I do not need any help getting out of it.

*heart eyes at this as I read*

In a Westeros where Soulmates are bound and Marked by the Gods to bind Houses together and pay blood debts, Lyarra Snow and Oberyn Martell are about to get a shock…

[umbry-fic]

Sunflower of Parting Regrets

Summary: Inch by inch, leaf by leaf, the two sunflowers in the garden grow, side-by-side.

But on the day a flower finally blooms, the one who was supposed to see it by his side was no longer here.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Word Count: 2864 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 15/09/2021

Notes+Warnings: This is not a happy story, and features major character death (though not explicitly).

Title from Yamashizuku's Sekibetsu no Himawari.

~~~

Hands patted dirt over fragile seeds, planting the potential for new life. The sun, just beginning to recover from its winter lethargy, shone gently down on the two energetic children.

"There! Done!" Lloyd exclaimed, grinning as he observed his and Colette's handiwork. Two sunflower seeds that had been cradled in careful hands and carried here to the garden plot, now buried, little mounds visible where he and Colette had piled the soil.

"Good job us!" Colette let out a little giggle, the two of them squatting next to each other, hands filthy with dirt - between their fingers, under their fingernails, some even managing to find their way onto their arms and clothes. It was like spring had already arrived to chase winter away, despite the faint dredges of cold still clinging to everything. "How soon do you think we'll get to see them bloom? The sunflowers in the book were so pretty..."

"Uh..." Lloyd cocked his head, trying hard to cast his mind back. "I think three months. According to Dad, sunflowers grow super, duper fast. Only if they survive, though."

"Oh..." Colette's head bowed, her shoulder-length hair swaying slightly in the breeze, a smudge of dirt on her cheek that Lloyd itched to rub off. "Then I'll take really good care of them! I'll make sure they survive!" Colette cried with gusto, head snapping up as she locked gazes with Lloyd, determination burning in her eyes.

He felt the spark of something warm in his chest, then, as he stared straight into that bright blue, which he'd seen so many times before. Not that he wasn't happy in her presence - hearing the sound of her voice was enough to make his whole day. Yet there was a little more this time, a little more that he couldn't put into words...

"Me too!" he replied, "And then we'll see the flowers bloom together." He held out his pinky, ready to make the most sacred of vows. At least, to a young child like him. "Pinky promise?"

He did think it strange, when she appeared to pause, hesitating before finally linking their pinkies together. Her skin warm against his as their two small hands shook together under the winter sun, sealing a promise never to be broken. For to do so was the most unforgivable of crimes in a child's mind.

"I sure hope they bloom soon," she muttered, staring down once again at the soil with hopeful eyes. And something else, hiding behind that hope.

And the sense of strangeness in Lloyd's mind faded away, a mere instant later, lost in the colour that was childhood.

~~~

"It's still..." Colette muttered, reaching her hand up to grasp at a non-existent flower, fingers only managing to close around the sun. She sighed, lowering her hand to instead rub one of the massive leaves that jutted out of the stalk.

Lloyd frowned, averting his gaze. He couldn't stand it, the disappointment in her voice, so heavy that it seemed to take form and weigh on his shoulders, dragging the both of them into the ground beneath their feet. He desperately wanted to do something. But there wasn't anything he could do. He certainly couldn't perform magic.

The two of them returned here, to this garden plot near his home, all the time. Every week, sometimes every day. It had become one of their favourite spots, sitting by the sunflowers as they did homework, talked, or simply enjoyed the silence. What had once been invisible seeds had become tiny sprouts, pushing their steady way out of the soil. And then they had become long, thick stalks, populated with leaves, gaining height with each day, growing side-by-side just as the two of them did. Colette always joked that it was so much like him, for his sunflower to be a full head taller than hers. The height difference clearly didn't bother her, since Colette had taken to affectionately calling her sunflower "little one", caring for it gently. Watching the loving way in which she handled it, watered it, sang to it, even, filled his heart with so much warmth.

Yet no matter how much love was showered upon the two sunflowers, the buds that had appeared on the first year had never become more than that. They simply remained buds, eternally closed, the flowers hiding away like they were shy of facing the world.

Colette must have really, truly wanted to see them in full bloom. To know of their beauty.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, repeating the words she'd been saying recently, at this very spot. Always out of the blue, always hurrying on before he could even pause to ask her what it was she was apologising for, the opportunity to buried instantly by Colette. And it was his turn now, the words slipping from him, the reason eluding him as his heart clenched in his chest.

"Don't say that..." Colette shook her head, taking her hand in his and squeezing. "It's not your fault. It's like what Genis said, right? There's not enough mana for them to bloom."

"I... didn't get most of what Genis said," Lloyd admitted, feeling his cheeks flush slightly as Colette let out a small, bright laugh. "But if we need more mana... Then we can just wait, right? When we come back from the Journey of Regeneration, together, the flowers should bloom in no time."

Colette's hand tightened on his as she turned away, just slightly. "Come back together, huh..."

"Colette...?" he asked hesitantly, wondering if he'd imagined what he'd seen, for just a fleeting second. The downturn of her lips, the sadness in her eyes. No longer were these moments easily forgettable. They stuck in his mind like tiny shards, to be turned over countless times in the safety of his own bed and the silence of the night, wondering if it was him, if he'd said something wrong, if he should dig deeper. Yet something always held him back, fear forming a taut rope around him that refused to let him get any closer.

"Yes, I'm sure they'll bloom then."

There was nothing but that lovely, sweet smile on her face as she turned back to face him, eternally plastered on her face.

"And then you'll be able to plant more. And see them. Next year, and the next..." Colette stepped closer, her grip managing to tighten even more. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Closer, until he could feel the tickle of her breath on his cheek. Closer, until his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest.

"Colette, I-"

He wasn't given the chance to finish, not knowing what he was even going to say, the words flying out of his mind as she stumbled back like she'd been burned, something akin to horror filling her wide eyes.

An emotion that shouldn't be there, surely, the sight of it stabbing straight into his heart.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her hand ripping out of his grasp even as he tried to hold on.

What... What had he done wrong?

He was left to ponder that question, standing motionless as she fled, the beginnings of storm clouds beginning to gather overhead.

It was far, far later, after everything was over, that he realised what she was apologising for.

The myriad of broken promises she would leave behind, for they had no hope of being kept, and therefore her refusal to make another. But, foremost of them all...

A pinky promise made between two children, still colourfully vivid in both their minds.

~~~

"Sunflowers?" he muttered, wondering if he'd correctly interpreted what Colette had scribbled on his shoulder.

Colette nodded, affirming his words as she neatly folded her hands in her lap, sitting next to him by the window.

"What about them?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. The memory of their little garden plot, the flowerless stalks growing ever taller, unable to flourish in a dying world. What had once been so familiar, yet seemed so far away now. Their wish, their promise, to see the first blooming flower together, what would surely be a wondrous sight.

You'll get to see them bloom soon, she wrote, this time on his arm, raising her head to show him a small little smile. I know you'll love it.

Surely, it wasn't his imagination. Not this time. That dark, monstrous thing, hiding in the depths of her eyes, how the edge of her smile seemed to fade, her own hand shaking as she drew it across the bare skin of his arm, her touch like burning coals. That same way her shoulder seemed to cave in on themselves, as it did on that fateful night when he had held two coffee cups in his hands, words inexorably surging up his throat even as guilt pressed on his chest. The way she seemed to be both leaning closer and pulling away, struggling to choose between the two.

He couldn't stop himself, something inside of him shattering as she stood to leave. In just a few steps, he'd caught up to her, stopping her in her tracks, halfway to the door. His arms wrapped securely around her waist as he pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair.

He could taste salt on his tongue, could feel the wetness on his cheeks, the shuddering breath Colette took.

He knew that she was strong. She was an Angel, a being that commanded fearsome powers by the blessing of the Goddess. Even before that, she had always been strong. She was no longer merely the girl he met by the garden plot, whose hand he had always taken as he led her back home, her blue eyes sparkling as a smile played at her lips.

She felt so small in his arms, however. Like her back was crumbling, just as he was, slowly breaking into tiny little pieces as he embraced her warmth.

"We'll see it. Together," he gasped, feeling her hands reach up to brush away the tears rolling down his face, her touch so gentle it hurt. It hurt - everything, nothing, something.

With her other hand, she wrote the same message into his arm, over and over again, as if to carve it into his skin, as if to comfort him, as if to convince herself.

It's okay.

Was it? But he couldn't explain what he was feeling, the only constant being confusion. Couldn't explain why he had the urge to stay like this, where she couldn't slip away and disappear like a small bird taking off into the night sky, never to be seen again. Couldn't explain the neverending tears, when she should be the one crying, after all that she had suffered. But she had no tears anymore, and only he could sob.

Couldn't explain why he so desperately needed to whisper his one wish.

Don't go. Please, don't go.

But, he had no real reason to keep her here. Not when they were so close to the end. One more step and they would touch that finish line, and then everyone would be saved, a bright future awaiting beyond. He was being incredibly selfish, for no purpose that he could discern. But yet, but yet, but yet...

Doubt clawed at the corners of his mind, but he couldn't articulate it. Or anything. Words refused to pass his lips.

So he could do nothing, but let her go. As he always did, never able to hold onto her, who was warm and real in his hands and yet seemed as slippery as a ghost. Her fingers lingered for just a moment, before being wrenched away. She walked out of the room, her back facing him, not turning back a single time. Her voice seemed to echo in his head, repeating the same words in an endless loop.

"I'm sorry."

He could only fall into a fitful sleep, the thunder of the roiling skies outside filling his dreams.

She had refused to show him her face, hiding from him in these final moments, desperately trying to conceal any trace of her pain.

To say goodbye, with nothing but a blossoming smile...

~~~

Footsteps came to a pause, as a figure clad all in red stopped and turned to look at the two green stalks, shooting out of the dirt.

It had been a long time since Lloyd had walked this way, the place before him holding too many memories that were painfully colourful, unyielding and refusing to fade. Ghosts lived in every square inch. Each time her fingertips had brushed against his, each laugh she had emitted at something he'd said, each wonderful smile, more precious than anything in the world. This place, once the beloved site of shared dreams swapped in fervent whispers, had become nothing more than the graveyard of hope.

He had come here today, however, on a whim. The burning rage that had powered him through the first few months - rage at the world, at himself, but never at her - had finally drained out of him, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. It was a miracle it had not consumed him fully and reduced him to ashes. Perhaps that made him ready to return.

Not much had changed. The sunflowers had gained some height, a few new, tiny leaves clinging on for dear life and refusing to be swept away by the wind.

And yet...

Lloyd took hesitant step after another, shaking hands reaching out to feel the yellow petals between his fingers, the wide flower head sitting atop the taller of the two stalks, angled towards the sun, smothered in grey.

It wasn't an illusion, then.

Beautiful, just as she had confidently stated it would be. The countless petals, perfectly shaped like they had been pressed with delicate fingers into their rightful place, their vibrant yellow, the sweet fragrance. Perfect, all around.

The miracle she had silently waited for had finally occurred. But she wasn't here to see it. She would never see it, that which she had once prayed for. Had she seen it as hope for herself? That if this miracle could come to pass, then somehow, she could be allowed to live?

It was no longer a miracle. Just a flower naturally blooming on the mana that had now become plentiful, siphoned from a girl who lay at the centre of the world. Had she hoped, then, when that wish had died, that the blooming sunflower could act as guidance for him? To tell him to continue facing the sun, to grasp his future in hand and move on?

The flower was none of those things, meaningless without the one who had shared the memory, who was meant to stand here with him and exclaim excitedly over the whole thing, gesturing wildly, the image so vivid in his mind that if he just turned, he would be able to see her again...

There was nothing but the whispering of the wind. Once again, he could not hold onto her, even now that she had truly become a ghost.

And so the sunflower was nothing but a reminder of the gaping hole in his heart, of everything he had lost and would never know again.

He had done nothing but fail her, countless times. That was all he could do, and all that he did now.

"We promised, didn't we?" he whispered, fingers tightening and crinkling the petals.

He resisted the desire to rip them off, one by one, to bring his feet down upon them and grind them into dust. The same dust that the childish promise he'd once made had become, lost and forgotten. How childish of him, to expect the Chosen to remember something as insignificant as a childhood promise.

She had only been fulfilling her duty to the world.

"So why..."

But even then, he wanted to believe that it had been special to her. That their time together had meant something, anything.

No one answered, because of course no one could answer. There was no one next to him, where once there would be a comforting hand laid on his shoulder, a voice to tell him it was alright, to soothe the bitter pain in his heart and put the broken pieces back together.

Instead, there was only the everlasting bloom of regret, its roots entrenched deep into his heart.

The heavens gave way as pattering filled his ears, raindrops beginning to slam into the leaves, into him, mixing with the tears on his face, into the ground and dredging up the heavy scent of soil.

The first of the spring showers had arrived, heralding the start of the season of life.

New life, the entire world blooming in vibrant colour, that he could see only in monotone grey, knowing this was all at the expense of another. Everyone was celebrating the new world that had been born, a girl's courageous sacrifice already forgotten, relegated to nothing more than a footnote.

She who was supposed to see the beautiful world she had helped bring about, who was meant to see spring...

She who was his entire world, his sunlight, his flower of hope...

She had wilted, and she would never bloom again.

[tmngoose]

Nice Words: a Turtle Tots Drabble

Based on my headcanon. I’m sure there’s some errors, but w/e. It’s almost 3am :A!  1,632 word count. G-Rated. Tags include: sibling squabbles, sad feelings, happy endings, and hurt/comfort? Read it under the cut! (Once I get my Ao3 up and running it’s all over for y’all) :U

It was late in the afternoon when Splinter had finished making himself a cup of tea. As he placed Ol' Skelly back onto the stovetop, his ears pricked towards the kitchen's entrance, where he could distinctly hear the pitter-patter of feet tottering down the hallway, followed by a series of sharp whispers.  "Boys," Splinter addressed, "Didn't I tell you four that you could only have your snacks after you tidied up your bedrooms?" It wouldn't have been the first time his turtle-children attempted to sneak into the snack cabinet and reward themselves for a job half-done.  "U-Um, actually, it's just us three," Mikey answered meekly.   Splinter raised a brow, "Three?" He turned around and spotted Raph, Leo, and Mikey huddled together in the doorway, their expressions mixed. "Where's Purple?"  Raph pushed Leo forward, earning a scowl from his younger brother, "Leo and Donnie were fighting again, and then Donnie ran off somewhere!"  "Tattle-tale," Leo grumbled, folding his arms with a huff. Splinter sighed, "Blue? I thought we talked about using our nice words towards each other?" He knelt before Leo, who fidgeted under his father's attention.  "But I did!" Leo's passionate claim wavered. He guiltily stared down at his feet, "Well, I mean, I did at first. But he started it!" The slider's fire returned, only quelled by Splinter, who pressed a finger up to his mouth. "That's not important," Splinter said, "What's important now is finding your brother and setting things right."  "But, we looked everywhere for him!" Mikey whimpered, tears threatening to spill from his watery eyes.  Raph began counting off on his fingers, "We searched the bathroom, all of our bedrooms and the living room! I even looked inside your chair!"   "I still think he could've flushed himself down the toilet," Leo mumbled to himself, earning another look of disapproval from Splinter.  "Then, it sounds like you three have a lot of backtracking to do!" Splinter patted Mikey's shell and took a moment to dry the box turtle's tears with his sleeve. "But worry not, my sons, for I will help you."                                                                -x- What Splinter had promised was a half-truth. While his boys double-checked their bedrooms, Splinter took his cup of tea into the living room. He could keep an eye out for Donnie while also keeping an eye on his favorite TV show.      Splinter shook his head upon discovering the state of disarray the living room was left in from Raph, Leo, and Mikey’s frantic search for Donnie. He decided he'd make the boys sort out the rest of the living room after supper. Splinter fixed the cushions of his armchair, made himself comfortable, sipped his tea, and then twirled the remote control between his fingers. Splinter's thumb hovered over the power button. Just before he could click it, there came a strange sound from close-by. Sniffle...  It was a soft, sad sound that made Splinter's ears twitch. He listened carefully and heard nothing. He shrugged, pointed the remote at the projector screen, and- Sniff... sniffle...  - there it was again! If Splinter was right, the noise was coming from beneath him? He slid out of his seat and checked underneath the armchair.  "Purple?" Splinter blinked. "What are you doing under there?" Donnie turned away from Splinter, burrowing further into his hoodie until he eventually disappeared into his shell. He sniffled again, and Splinter frowned.  "Surely, you can't be comfy down there?" Splinter held out his hand. "Why not come out and join me? We can watch Scorpion Treadmill together!" Splinter only needed to wait a few more seconds before he felt Donnie's hand lightly take ahold of his own. Splinter's fingers curled around the tiny hand and carefully helped Donnie out from under the recliner.  Splinter kept his word. He plopped back down in his seat and placed Donnie on his lap, who was still tucked inside his shell. Splinter turned on the TV and sipped his tea once more, setting the cup and saucer down on Donnie's back.  By the time the first commercial break came on, Donnie finally spoke up from within his shell, "Leo said he wished Laceface was his brother instead of me."  Splinter looked down at Donnie and lowered the volume on the TV, "Laceface? Oh! You mean the football you boys are always breaking things with? Now, why would Blue say something like that?"   "Because he's a big meanie," Donnie murmured sourly. "Now, Purple. What did we say about using our nice words towards each other?"  "Well, he is!" Donnie's head popped out of his shell, his eyes puffy from crying. "Me 'n Mikey were playing Jupiter Jim when Leo and Raph crashed our game with their stupid Sports Ball game!"  "Uh-huh," Splinter nodded, sipping his tea.  "And then Leo's trick pass caused Raph to break our moon buggy!"   "You don't say?"   "So I told Leo he owed us a new moon buggy, but he said it wasn't his fault our moon buggy broke so easily cuz it's cardboard! So then I said to him that it was his fault because it was his dum-dum trick pass that caused Raph to break our moon buggy in the first place! And then Leo said his trick pass wasn't dumb, and that I was the dumb one!"  Donnie went on. Splinter could see where all this was going. Indeed, it was a messy situation, though thankfully, he knew of a way to fix it. When Donnie finished recounting his side of the story, the young turtle was just as hurt when he had first hid under Splinter's armchair. Donnie lifted his glasses out of the way so he could wipe his eyes and swallowed the sob caught in his throat.   "Who am I kidding?" Donnie's shoulders sagged with defeat. "They'd probably care more about Laceface than me." Splinter began rubbing Donnie's back, hoping to calm him down, "You know that's not true. Your brothers care very much about you, including Blue!"  "Nuh-uh," Donnie shook his head in disbelief.  "Yuh-huh," Splinter answered, "Why, surely you must've heard them tearing this room apart while they were looking for you?"  "Well, yeah..." "Did you know they're still looking for you?" Splinter continued, "Why, they've been so worried about you!" "R-Really?"  "Really," Splinter petted the top of Donnie's head.  "Even Leo?" "Only one way to find out," Splinter cleared his throat, "BOYS!"  Splinter's bellow echoed off the walls of the lair. Donnie could hear his siblings clumsily stumble over each other as they piled into the living room, though none of them dared to approach Splinter's armchair, and with good reason too: they still hadn't found Donnie.  "Yeah, Pops?" Raph asked hesitantly. "Have you boys found Purple yet?" Splinter winked down at Donnie and signaled for him to stay quiet. Donnie, unsure of what Splinter was scheming, obediently covered his mouth with both of his hands.   "Um, n-no, not yet," Mikey spoke up with a sad tremor in his throat.   "Oh, that's too bad," Splinter lamented, "I suppose I will have to find you a new brother, huh? Maybe that football you boys love so much?" He mused aloud.  "What?!" Raph gasped, "Replace Donnie?!"  "With Laceface?!" Leo sounded just as upset as Raph and Mikey, which surprised Donnie. "You can't do that!" Leo protested.  "Why not?" Splinter questioned. "Didn't you say you'd rather have Laceface as your brother anyway?"   "W-Well, yeah, but... b-but...," Leo grew quiet, and then burst out crying; the weight of his guilt finally crashing down on him. "I don't want a football for a brother!! I d-didn't mean it when I said that!  I want Donnie for a brother-," Leo's hiccuping stopped abruptly, "-wait a sec, how did you know I said that to Donnie?" "Because he told me," Splinter replied cheekily and held Donnie out over the side of his armchair for his brothers to see.   "Donnie!!" Leo, Raph, and Mikey ran towards the soft-shell and tackled him out of Splinter's hands. They smothered Donnie in a great big heap on the floor; one could barely spot the soft-shell within the mess of arms as his brothers nuzzled him.  At first, Donnie was uncomfortable. The hug was suffocating and almost unbearable until he noticed how happy and relieved his brothers were to have found him: including Leo.   "I'm sorry, Donnie," apologized Leo, "I never meant any of it, honest!"  "And I'm sorry too," Donnie gritted out, "B-but maybe you guys could st-stop squeezing me? M-My oxygen levels..." He squeaked helplessly. Splinter smiled, satisfied with their touching reunion, "I hope you all learned a valuable lesson today."   "We sure did!" Raph beamed, "Donnie's the best at hide-and-seek!"  "What? No!" Splinter shook his head, "Well, maybe, but that's not it! Sometimes, when we're angry, we say things to each other that we do not mean. That is why it is super-duper important to always use our nice words towards each other!"   To the four turtle tots, their father spoke words of wisdom. Their eyes glistened in awe and respect.  "Now then!" Splinter's tender fatherly disposition suddenly turned agitated and firm, "Why were you boys playing Jupiter Jim and Sports Ball in the first place?! Didn't I tell you to clean your rooms before my shows started?!"  The turtle brothers yelped and scrambled out of the living room before Splinter could punish any of them.  "Quick, Donnie!" Raph cried out, "Tell us your secret ways of hide-and-seek!" He held Donnie high above his head, leading the gang to his bedroom. "Yeah!" Leo agreed, "Dad can't punish us if he can't find us!"  The turtle tots giggled and shrieked as they carried on their mischief elsewhere within the lair. Splinter shook his head. He reached for his tea and found that the last few sips had gone cold. Though that hardly mattered, for the laughter of his children warmed him all the same. 

[runnfromtheak]

tagged by @icosagens!!! such an eloquent and stunning writer with a sharp sense of humor srsly go check him out on ao3! <3 Specifically check out his JayDickDonna fic, CHCl3 which is beautiful and painful and just E V E R Y T H I N GGGGG.

I'll put everything under the cut so there isn't a terrible amount of scrolling for those wishing to skip <3

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Anchors of Mortality

AKA my new passion project where Dick has a savior complex and no self-preservation skills featuring a Constantine who just wants to Tap That, a Zatanna who is tired and also wants to Tap That, and a host of resurrected characters because Dick can't let things lie or die. Ships include JayDick and Magic^2Dick (or Dick/Zee/Constantine)

Life ends and life begins in rain, at least as far as Dick Grayson is concerned. His parents died on a rainy day, ice-cold droplets seeping in through the bright, thick cloth of the circus tents. A drizzle, Haly had called it beforehand, telling them not to worry. But rain is an omen – a warning – of an uncertain future, of conflicting emotions and thoughts. It had been a sign he’d been foolish to ignore, a sign Haly had been foolish to ignore.

everything casts a shadow

AKA SladeDick with Slade being the Worst and Dick straight up not having a good time

Zatanna used to say that rain has a cleansing effect on the heart and the soul – and the cock, Constantine would always interject with a filthy leer of promise. Rain purifies negative energy from a space, murder or magic, and rain settles the anxious mind. The three of them had made love in the rain once, intertwining limbs and the glow of magic refracted throughout the cold droplets. Three hearts aligned in a crystalline world of skin and water, for a perfect moment.

a prayer for which no words exist

JayDick where Dick has issues and needs therapy. Like a true emotional support/projection character, he reads instead.

On nights he can’t sleep, he reads.

Dick’s always enjoyed books, had grown up with yellowed pages musty with the scent of age as comfort and entertainment, but he’d stopped reading frequently when he’d grown up. With everything else, with responsibility atop responsibility atop responsibility as he’d aged, he hadn’t the time or the mental capacity to love reading like he had before. He hadn’t been able to focus or concentrate, always oscillating between too keyed up and too exhausted. The words, when he’d try and sift through the neurochemical adrenaline high and sift through the luring temptress of melatonin and sleep deprivation, would float and float and float away like distant birds migrating to a new land.

i'm addicted to the way you hurt (i don't mind if you fuck up my life)

JayDick where Dick is a female and also depressed but not in a sexy way. Very Spuffy s6 vibes if ya know what I mean.

When she comes back to life, her world is a nuclear green.

She’s embraced by something; it cradles her, like she’s a precious bundle of jewels, like something perfect to be coveted. There’s warmth where she rests her head, breasts pillowed beneath her, and she’s held close enough to feel that rhythmic cadence like a siren call to life.

warning signs can feel like they're butterflies (i won't stop 'till i get where you are)

Johnlock fic because I got into the fandom late where Sherlock just can't say no and everyone is sad.

He shoots her blackmailer on Christmas Day on the front porch of a cold mansion.

It’s a good shot – clean, precise – with an entry wound and an exit wound. Bits of brain matter coated in blood spatter at Magnussen's back, a dead-eyed look of shock in his empty eyes.

hold your breath 'till we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)

JayDick where Dick just wants to love Jason and people (*cough* Jason *cough*) make this a difficult venture.

The thing is: Jason Todd is dead.

The thing is: Jason Todd is holding a detonator in his right fist and a gun in his left, both pointed in Dick’s direction in a fairly menacing way.

The thing is: Dick’s vision is blurry from what may or may not be a concussion and there are little floating Batmen spinning around his head in diapers like a horrifying rendition of Cupid, so his assessments may not be entirely accurate.

i wanna waste my youth on you

DickDonna where Dick Grayson is a fucking simp for Donna Troy but aren't we all? (the correct answer is yes. if you said no, only god can help you now.)

He’s ten and she’s eleven and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved (running in circles now look what you've done)

Johnlock and Adlock where Sherlock picks sex over drugs and John is Not Pleased.

It starts right after the funeral dressed up as a wedding. Tables of decorations he’d picked, dishes he’d selected, color pallets he’d painstakingly coordinated and plotted. John and Mary’s song, weaved from his tears and his blood spilt like ink over the dancefloor as his violin grieves with him.

She’s pregnant. Sherlock smiles, as the best friend is meant to, and John smiles, as the father is meant to, and Mary smiles and it’s all normal and proper and Sherlock’s frozen before she pulls John away with something so horribly knowing in her eyes, before they kiss sweetly on a dancefloor he’d helped pick and lose themselves in throngs of friends and family.

light at the beginning of the tunnel (but he tells me that i'm dreaming)

Johnlock where Sherlock pines and does drugs post T6T.

He hadn’t intended to return. Victorian London holds its own sort of allure, delicious danger at every corner, nothing but pure intellect unaided by modern machinations to solve puzzles of every sort—

(a John Watson that still looks at you like you hung the sun and the stars just for him, like you’re the center he orbits, a gravity he doesn’t care to escape. A place where deductions still evoke tenderness, approval. Where John Watson still wants to hear your voice and cares for you, even with Mary.)

—but it had been dangerous. It had been utterly reckless, a calculated OD with no less than five compounds of varying effects, each boosting the others into a delightful failing of his heart that hadn’t lasted because his transport’s tenacity outweighed his mind’s desires. The fanciful realm where his life hadn’t gone to complete and utter shite had never been a conscious plan. Sherlock hadn’t intended for his brain to grasp for a chain, a link to reality in the form of delusions and hallucinations and awful attempts at honesty. He hadn’t planned for a did you miss me? Despite all his claims to the contrary at the time.

me and you are such a beautiful tragedy (in love with agony)

JayDick Jason wants to be a good person but he's horny. AKA the new pitch for evil: come to the dark side, we have great sex or your ex that can and will kill you if you don't.

The thing about the Lazarus Pit is it consumes you. It’s greedy, like Midas’s touch on a cellular level. It replaces the old with the new – with it – carving a home in blood and soul for its will. For its intentions, passive though they seem at first. Mental stability is only one cost of such a bargain, but it’s by far the worst.

I mean, I used rain as a symbol/parallel twice but mehhh. I don't think I'm super duper set in any formula as far as first lines go. I think my fave would either be the Lazarus Pit line or the nuclear green one. I love my Pit consequences, okay?

Tagging @boyblunder-thedarkheir, @behindtherobinsmask, @luthienluinwe, @stevieraebarnes, and @bitterleafs!! <3

[imalwaysintune]

A Distortionate Tale

Yes the title is a pun and probably not a good one but it’s fINE

I don’t think this is a rarepair, but I definitely don’t see it a whole lot. All I know is that everyone misses Michael and everyone loves Jon and their dynamic. So this was born.

Hope y’all enjoy! Story below cut

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

Jon was sat at his desk that resided in his study. It was cozy, though he was rarely in it these days. He was rarely in his own home, for that matter.

Jon lived in a small flat. It had a living room, one bathroom, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. He didn’t need the other bedroom, so he turned it into a work-away-from-work study, complete with desk, book shelves, and mood lighting.

Rising tension in his life had forced him to stay at the Archives more and more, and it was chipping away at his mental health more than usual. 

Jon put down the file he was holding and buried his head in his hands. He pushed the base of his palms into his eye sockets, fighting against the familiar burn of tears rising up behind his eyes. Everything would be fine, he told himself, not that he really believed it.

He sighed deeply and got up from his chair, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape. He was barely paying attention, and walked towards a door that hadn’t been there when he’d walked in

When Jon opened the door, he didn’t have enough energy to be shocked at what he saw. It was Michael, in all his distorted glory. Jon looked right into Michael’s smile and suddenly he felt light. Before he knew it, he was falling forward into Michael’s waiting arms.

When Jon came to, his head was pounding. He opened his eyes and was met with the ceiling he’d woken up to hundreds, if not thousands, of times. He quickly sat up, a mistake he realized immediately when a jolt of pain went directly through his spine to his head.

He felt a weight on the bed shift, and looked over to where Michael was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He seemed to have been reaching for Jon, but was now frozen in place. 

He slowly lowered his distorted hand, and Jon had to look away. The way his fingers bent and twisted would’ve been comedic if he was staring at a fun-house mirror. But he wasn’t staring at a mirror, only a being of chaos who only followed his own whims. So why had they brought him here?

“Why are you here?” Jon asked what he had been thinking, figuring that there was no point in fighting it. He, it, did what it wanted. It was useless trying to control Michael in any way, unless Jon wanted to end up dead. Well...

“I am here, Archivist, because I started to think about you. I figured there was no reason I should not come, so here I am,” He said. His voice sounded like butter, the way he spoke slowly and precision, as if he wasn’t quite used to having a human mouth yet.

Jon shivered at the thought of Michael pre-distortion, and he felt the tears coming back. He rubbed at his eyes harshly, wondering why his body was betraying him so much tonight.

“Well, you came at a very bad time. I’d prefer it if you would leave me alone,” Jon said, his voice not nearly as steady as he’d hoped. He flopped back onto his pillows and pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the ever shifting form of Michael.

It was a few minutes of him sitting in the darkness under the covers until he felt the weight on the bed shift. Jon thought that Michael had gotten off the bed, but much to his surprise, the weight settled itself next to him. Jon’s breath stilled as he waited for it to make a move.

He breathed out heavily when he felt a single limb wrap around him. Michael was spooning Jon from behind, and he had no idea how to react. Luckily, Michael speaking saved him from having to.

“I’m lonely, Archivist, I’ll tell you,” Michael spoke with a sad inflection, and Jon couldn’t help removing the covers and looking at him. His headache persisted, but it didn’t matter when he looked at the beings face.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that,” Jon whispered, his eyes locked on the figure in front of him.

Michael’s arm fell away from Jon’s waist, and he found himself missing the warmth that came from the gangling limb. It used it’s hand to brush away a piece of hair that had fallen over it’s face. The being flipped so they were facing the ceiling, a long sigh being drawn out of it’s mouth.

“Nothing, I suppose,” It laughed that haunting laugh before continuing. “You always have a way of making my day, little Archivist.”

“I have a name, you know. Unlike you, my name means something,” Jon all but spat, but he wasn’t angry. He was too tired. He was always too tired.

“You know we’re not really different, Archivist. The Eye has it’s hold on you just as the Spiral with me. It’s all-” He was cut off as Jon glared at him, but with no real malice. "Sorry, Ar- Jon, I’m just not used to interacting with other beings. I mainly lure and capture. There’s no emotional connection in that. It’s purely a business interaction.”

“Do you not feel any emotions?” Jon asked, fully flipping his body so he was facing Michael.

“No, I don’t think so. Do you?”

“I do. At least, I think I do. Recently, they’ve been more muted, though I don’t know if that’s the clinical depression or The Eye,” Jon joked, looking back up at the being. It wasn’t laughing, and instead looked mildly disinterested. “Christ.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Archivist?” Michael asked, and Jon was too worn out to correct him on the name. Instead, Jon’s brows furrowed and he sat up slowly on the bed.

“Why would you ask me that?” He asked, scooting his body towards the headboard. 

“I think... Michael, human Michael, always wanted to kiss someone. But he got so caught up with work and Gertrude that his dating life never went that far,” Michael drawled, and Jon looked at him in shock.

“How do you know this? Do you have his memories?” Jon asked, and realized too late his powers were in play.

Michael grunted as the Beholding tried to squeeze the answer out of him. “Not his memories, per say. But I still, I don’t know, feel what he does. What he did,” Michael let out a breath of relief after he got the answer out.

“I thought you said you didn’t feel.”

“I don’t know Archivist! I just do whatever needs to be done. I go on my whims, I don’t know if they’re feelings or instincts or some outside force. I just do whatever I feel compelled to. And right now, I feel compelled to kiss you,” The being spoke quickly, and his words were almost lost with the way his voice twisted and bent. 

“You want... to kiss me?” Jon sat baffled. 

Michael sat up on the bed and turned to face towards Jon. “I want to see what kissing you will do,” He said. 

He was out of his mind, surely, Jon thought. However, he felt the pressure of waves behind his eyes, and knew that the eye was just as curious, if not more, than Michael. Seems almost fitting that the Eye would use Jon as an information vessel, even when it was just about being intimate with other Avatars. 

“Why not,” He said as he swung his leg over Michael’s lap, coming to rest with his legs on either side of the being. It felt odd, being this close to the figure’s face. It was constantly shifting as Jon’s eyes roamed it’s face, but he wouldn’t say it was ugly. it was quite attractive actually, considering.

Michael didn’t wait long though and brought it’s lips against Jon’s. And he hadn’t been prepared for the feeling that would follow him.

Jon had been tired, so incredibly tired, yet when Michael kissed him, he felt invigorated. His heart started being faster and his brain was going overtime, and he could feel it. But most of all, Jon felt static. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. The static spread from his where Michael kissed him down to his feet, and it brought Jon’s body to life.

He used his scarred and callous hands to cup Michael’s face, and it was the softest thing he had ever felt. He didn’t know if Michael needed to shave, but if he did, he did a damn good job.

Meanwhile, Jon’s face was scruffy and scratchy, but that didn’t seem to bother Michael as he began to kiss down Jon’s chin. His lips traveled from Jon’s mouth to the bottom of his neck as Jon moved his hands down Michael and rested them on his shoulders. 

As Michael kissed along Jon’s neck, he noticed the static in his hands felt stronger. Any exposed skin that was touching the being buzzed, as if Michael himself were vibrating.

He didn’t have too long to think about it though, as Michael bit Jon’s neck and brought him back to the moment. He let out a breathy laugh and leaned back, looking at Michael’s face.

“Will you... stay with me tonight?” Jon asked, curling a strand of Michael’s hair around his finger. It was so golden and bright it almost hurt his eyes.

“You’re not afraid I’ll try and kill you?”

“You know, at this point, I don’t think that would be the worst thing.”

And so the two Avatars lay there. Michael held Jon against him and comforted the broken man. Even as Jon slept, the nightmares would shake him awake, and Michael would whisper words of comfort until he fell back asleep. 

Two monsters, comforting and understanding each other more than anyone else could.

- The End!

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

I’m not super duper proud of this one, but it was fun to write! Honestly I love their dynamic, and as much as I love Helen, I definitely miss Michael. So I brought him back in my own little way.

Don’t forget to hit up my ao3! I post my nsfw content there as well as these sfw stories. My ask box is also open! Request away cause I’m running out of ideas lol

Words: 1639

[butmomilovepeter]

bees fight; bees sting; watch them die (and you can’t do a thing)

welcome to my fix it/ happy ending time

read on ao3?

~

Peter had been going to funerals all his life.

The first one was his grandfather, when he was the ripe age of three. He doesn’t quite remember it, he doesn’t even remember missing the man. He just remembered his father and his uncle being sad, and poor little toddler Peter didn’t know why. There were times later in his life when Ben or his father would take him to see the grave, planted right next to his late grandmother’s. He felt Ben’s greif, but never his own.

The next was one that stung him in his chest from time to time--his parents. Seven years old, young enough to not remember it all, but old enough to remember what was important. If anything, he remembers the night they died clearer.

Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. He loved spending time at his aunt and uncle’s. It was a night filled with Star Wars marathons and baking cookies. Aunt May was even letting him stay up until 10:00. But the knot that was planted in his stomach the moment Ben picked up the phone...let’s just say he could never forget the way his uncle’s face fell. The way he paled, the way his voice came out cracked.

“Pete,” said Ben, slowly, calmly. “Something bad happened.”

Aunt May was at his shoulder. “But everything will be okay, baby.”

“What? What happened?” But he could tell what was going to be said.

“Oh, Peter...mom and dad aren’t coming back.”

May dressed Peter in his own little suit, and Peter only remembered moving through the motions. Distant cousins and relatives came up and shook his hand, but all Peter could see was the double caskets, both parents slack and unmoving. He remembered he forgot to say goodbye. Forgot to say I love you. He was to busy getting all his legos together to show his uncle.

But he remembers, strikingly, the way that he tucked the tiny Iron Man figure his mother gifted him once into his coat pocket. He rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the cool metal slide in between them. Safety. This was his safety.

Uncle Ben had leaned down in front of him, his nose as red as Peter’s.

“You doing okay, kiddo?”

Peter shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”

Ben winced in sympathy. “Oh, I know, Peter.”

But eventually it gets easier, the days don’t seem so long and he never forgets a goodbye or an I love you. He goes back to school, he eats his vegetables and he still builds his legos.

Ben takes him to a Stark Expo for his eighth birthday, one of the first times he gets close to death.

And Iron Man saves him.

That year, Iron Man become more than a superhero for him.

That is, until he was fourteen.

It was cold, too cold for March. The wind was biting, unforgiving, and oh-so fitting of the day.

He had run off into the streets, angry and emotional. Honestly, Peter couldn’t remember why. It was probably a mix of Flash and his new found powers and school and everything a teenager felt.

But God, did he wish he hadn’t ran.

Ben went out looking for him, because he was Ben and he loved Peter.

Sometimes, even now, Peter could still feel the cold on his skin.

“Peter! You have to take a breath--”

“It’s too much--too much--”

And Ben put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, lowering his chin to meet Peter’s eyes. “Everything is going to be okay, but I need you too--”

And then the bang. The blood; the way his eyes widened. The way the grip on Peter’s shoulder tightened as Ben crumpled, and Ben was supposed to crumble--he was Ben Parker. He was strong and tall and was never hurt.

Peter remembered the sirens, the shadows running, the scared look in Ben’s eyes.

And he was gone, before Peter could even say a goodbye. Police separated him from his uncle, and before anyone could question him, Peter ran again. Back to his apartment, where his aunt stood in the middle of more police, more authority and neighbors and noise. But his aunt was there.

And she hugged him and held on tight, as his brain exploded.

The funeral was worse.

The cold didn’t disappear, but the knot in his stomach returned. The thought of yourfaultyourfaultyourfault stayed with him the whole time, never leaving as they lowered his uncle, his rock, into the ground. That’s the moment he realized he was never coming back.

“Peter.” May was trying to talk to him. “Peter, please look at me.”

But he couldn’t, because all he saw was the hurt.

That night, Peter took out the old Iron Man figure. A symbol of everything he was trying to be. He was far too old for superheros. But he ran his fingers across the metal, like he did when he was eight.

He was no hero. He couldn’t even save his uncle, his father.

Where was Iron Man when you needed him?

He threw the figure across his room, and for the first time, he cried. He sobbed into his pillows and he threw more, like clothes and trinkets, and knocked over the lego sets that him and Ben and Ned had spent so long doing.

May came in eventually, calmly, like approaching a wild animal.

And Peter broke. His knees crumpled, and the cries became sobs. May just held him on the floor, soothed him, patted his hair, whispered I love you’s into his ears.

“You’re not supposed to be a hero, baby. You’re just a boy.”

~

Tony Stark’s funeral is the worst of all.

It’s warm, the bugs were out, including the bees. Wasps. That stung the attendees even though everyone pretended not to care.

Peter had slipped the Iron Man figure into his pocket again, hoping no one would notice. This was for him, not for the others.

At least he got to say his goodbye. He got the I love you message across. He was grateful for that.

Little Morgan Stark was a spitting image of her father. She didn’t look sad. More confused than anything.

And as Peter sat on the porch swing, watching the bees fly around Pepper’s yellow hair and the flowers that surrounded the area, she approached him.

“You’re Pete.” That’s the first thing she says to him. And it’s no question to her, she knows exactly what she’s saying.

Peter, somehow, cracked a smile. “I am. You know me?”

“Daddy has pictures of you. He showed me.” She clumsily got up onto the swing, grabbing for Peter’s hand to help her up. She had a good mix of both her father and mother’s spirit, unstoppable and headstrong. He could see it all over. “He said you’re a superhero.”

“Superhero, huh?” Peter prompted.

Morgan nodded sharply. “Spider-Man. He told me bedtime stories.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, and Peter could feel the tears prick his eyes.

“He had pictures of me?”

She nodded. “He told me you were my brother. Just a different Mommy and Daddy.”

The knot in his stomach got a bit smaller. He didn’t notice it as much. The tears falling from his eyes were a mix of both happy and sad, as this small girl with her father’s big brown eyes laid safely and content next to him.

She was his new safety.

“I loved your Dad very much.” Peter said through tears.

“He loves you, I think. He called you a little shit. He calls me that too.”

And now Peter was laughing. “And that means he loves us?”

Morgan nodded again. “That’s what Uncle Rhodey said.”

Peter moved for the first time, taking the little girl in his arms. She didn’t squirm away, in fact, she looked like she wanted him to. She placed her small little hands on his face, looking him right in the eyes.

“Why are you crying, Pete?” She asked, tilting her head. Looking just like Tony.

“You remind me of him,” he whispers. Breathe. In. Out.

She doesn’t seem to hear him, or if she does, it doesn’t matter. She wipes his tears away, like it’s magic and she cured him of all sadness.

“Daddy says it’s okay to cry,” she whispered back. “He said you were smart.”

They subject change caught him off guard. “He did?”

“Yep. Super duper smart. Smart like him and Mommy.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone as smart as your Mommy.” Peter chuckled.

“And Auntie May came to see me sometimes.”

“She did?” Peter didn’t know that. He looked up to see May and Pepper conversing, watching their kids from afar. He found courage to offer a light smile.

“Yeah. Her and Mommy drink grown-up stuff and talked about you. Sometimes it made Daddy sad.”

She nuzzled her head into Peter’s neck, hugging him.

“What are you doing?” Peter wasn’t complaining, it was just unexpected.

“Hugging you. Daddy said when he got you back you’d get all the best hugs.”

“He did?” Peter’s voice cracked.

She doesn’t respond, so he reaches his hands up and curls her in close.

Safety. Safety. Safety.

[silversablinovaallday]

A Proposition

A Silly little thing about Peter asking Yuri to join him and Sable in the bedroom. Also Available on AO3 here.

Peter knocked delicately on Yuri’s livingroom window. She was expecting him, but it still made her jump, hearing the soft beating on the window instead of the door. “It’s unlocked,” she called to him while looking down at the text he had sent her. 

‘Yuri I have a question for you. Can I come over? It’s not bad, I promise.’

Slowly he opened and crawled in through the window. “Hey Yuri, how are you?”

“I’ll be better once you tell me what the ominous text you sent me is about.”

“Sorry,” he removed his mask, making his voice clearer. “I didn’t know how to phrase it without making it seem like something was super-duper wrong or bad. I didn’t want you to worry.”

She sighed, “I’m always worried about you. You’re often pretty stupid.”

“Ouch, my ego.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please just get on with it. What question do you have for me?”

“Well,” he mumbled; looking down at the ground. Yuri easily noticed the new flush of red on his cheeks. “Listen can I just talk for a few minutes and you listen and maybe not get mad and throw me out the window?”

“You can talk ut no guarantees about the getting mad part.” 

“Please. If I’m being honest with you Yuri, I’m a little nervous to ask you this because it’s personal and I really don’t want this to ruin our friendship but I really want to ask you this. You can always say no, of course, but I really don’t want you to be hurt or angry or; even worse, hate me for this. I don’t want things to be awkward between us after this okay? If the answer is no, we can just forget I asked, okay?”

She could feel the anxiety rising in the man. “Alright,” she agreed. “Come sit down, calm down. I won’t be mad at you.”

Gingerly he took a seat on the couch beside her without looking up at her. His fidgeting worsened. “You promise?”

“Promise. Just ask.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “You know how Sable and I are dating and stuff? Well as you can imagine, we’re sexually active.” Yuri began to regret her decision to let Spider-Man into her apartment. “Well she and I have had a conversation about what we want to try and we both agreed that it would be fun to try a threesome. So a few names came up when we thought about who we’d like, and we both agreed that, well-um-that.”

If he could turn more shades of red all at once, he would have. Yuri wasn’t sure if she saw tears accumulating in his eyes or if it was her imagination, but she didn’t want to know. She was in shock. So much so that she couldn’t talk.

“You know, we both just said a name at the same time and we both said the same thing, you know? Well, we both agreed that we think that… you… you know… were attractive, and strong, and... If you wanted… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He went to get off the couch but she grabbed his arm before he could run off. When he looked down at her with that sad, embarrassed look, her heart melted. “You both wanted me? You both chose me?”

He nodded. 

She had to laugh. “So you decided to have a threesome and both agreed to ask me and she sent you to become a nervous wreck while asking me?”

“I volunteered to ask but got scared once I got here.”

She sighed, not in an angry way, more in a playful way. “I’m in.”

He choked on nothing. “What?”

“You can calm down. I’m saying I’d like that.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but if I’m being honest with you, it’s because she is hot. You are too but, I’m way more into women.”

“I totally understand even if it’s just because of her. She is the light of my life, but I’m not going to pretend she’s not the sexiest woman in existence. She’s so strong, and has those eyes, and, oh,” he nearly melted.

“Alright lover boy,” she punched him playfully. “Give me details. When, where, and what should I wear?”

“This is happening. I’m so excited! Tomorrow night? Eight and whatever you want. She’ll be wearing a very beautiful white with red flowers bra and panty set and I will be wearing whatever she tells me to wear. She’s the boss you know.”

“So what should I be expecting? Her to dominate both of us, or are she and I dominating only you?”

“I like both of those options. I never took you for a sub.” 

“Depends on the person. With you? No. With her? Absolutely.”

“Exciting. I’ll let her know and then shoot you a text. Thanks, Yuri! I’m so excited for tomorrow!” He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and threw his mask back on. “Text you later!”

She giggled softly as he jumped out the window back into the chilly night air. “I can’t believe I’m going to sleep with that idiot.”

[daleyposts]

Can you please write something where Ronan gets some therapy and acknowledgement of his depression please? With a happy ending???

I super duper can try at least! The ending is maybe more hopeful than happy, but I found it happy so... idk lol. I really hope you enjoy it, thanks for the prompt!

If you want to read on ao3, its https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142757  or keep reading below!

When Niall Lynch died, it had created this thing inside of Ronan. The thing carved out a place in his head and heart, burrowed itself deep, and became a parasite that feasted on Ronan's soul. He had, at the time, gladly welcomed it.

Because, the truth was? He wanted to hurt. Wanted the sting of the tattoo needle on his skin. Wanted the dull haze that covered everything. Wanted the sleepless nights. Wanted the exhaustion during his daylight hours. Wanted the the headaches that came from drinking too much. Wanted the pain that came from crashing his body against the pavement. Wanted the looks of reproach and scorn and disgust.

Because, his dad. His dad's blood and brain and bits of bone had been splattered out at his feet like some kind of sick attempt at abstract art. Like a macabre Jackson Pollock. Like something from a Tarantino movie. Over the top, and unbelievable.

Except it was real. Was shockingly, earth shatteringly real.

And it made him want to hurt.

The lack of feeling that came after those first few days of bone-crushing sadness was almost a relief. Would have been, if they didn't feel so much like a betrayal. Because that's what it was. The pain was what he deserved. He's dad was dead, and his dad deserved to have someone feel like every breath was a struggle. Like every day being alive was unfair, because his dad hadn't gotten any more days. Like if he wasn't feeling pain, if he wasn't thinking about the hole his fathers death had caused, than he was betraying his dad's memory.

On the first morning he woke up and his dad's corpse wan't the first thing he thought of, when the pang of his death wasn't the first conscious feeling he felt, as soon as he realized this? It crushed him. Because he was letting his dad's death slip from the forefront of his mind.

And, oh, sure. People always fucking talked about how 'You'll get over it,' or 'It'll hurt less, some day,' but what those fuckers didn't seem to realize, no matter how damned good their intentions were, was that he didn't want to get over it. Didn't want it to hurt less.

But.

But hours turn to days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years.

And, somewhere along the way, his mom dies. It doesn't hurt precisely as much. She had already been so much less after Niall. But it still hurts like getting his heart ripped from his chest. It's a familiar hurt, the loss of a parent.

And Gansey dies. For several moments, the parasite grows outside his chest and head to consume his entire being. But Gansey, through some miracle he doesn't understand, comes back. Lives again. Breaths again. And the parasite retreats back to its now comfortable home in his heart and brain.

(And Adam leaves, but that's a temporary thing. It doesn't leave him shattered. Or his breath ripped from his lungs. Or lying in bed for hours, with no desire to get up or move or think or live. )

But more hours and days and weeks and months pass.

He finds himself, after hours of arguments about why  from everyone (still living) that had ever claimed to love him in any manner, at a doctors office. Not the kind with a paper covered examination table that you have to strip or pee in a cup in or get pokey needles in. But a. A therapist kind of doctor.

(Because somewhere in those hours of arguments, he had looked some things up himself. Had found a name for the parasite in him. Had decided he should try this therapy thing with his own free will.)

He tells the doctor (who he had somewhat expected to have a little Freud mustache, and is somewhat disappointed when she doesn't) about the parasite. About not actually wanting to get better. About how that would be a betrayal.

She listens. For a long time. And then, when she opens her mouth? What she says? Sounds like an impossible thing.

"Ronan, it's okay to be okay," She says.

He want's to tell her that, no, it isn't okay. That he has to hurt, or else feel nothing. Or, at least, be angry. Because those are his settings. Familiar. Well worn. Comfortable, like a broken in pair of Doc Martens. He wants to tell her, so he does. Says it in a growl so she understands his anger, too.

She goes on to tell him, so show him, that he's scared to let this go, not because it's a betrayal to feel better. But because he's scared of being better because this parasite, depression, is all he's know for such a long long time now.

"And it's okay to be scared, to feel like you're losing a part of yourself," She says, her voice even and controlled, "But, Ronan? It never really was a part of you. It's something you have not something you are."

That first session isn't a magical cure all, some fancy dues ex machina for his parasite. For his depression. But he keeps going, and the therapy helps. The medicine helps too for awhile, until they don't. Until he gets a new prescription, one that actually helps way more than the old one ever had. Talking about it with his friends helps. The fucking yoga, he admits through clinched teeth, helps a little.

He still has bad days. But he also recognizes them as bad days and not just a day that ends in 'y'. His therapist says that's an improvement. He feels like that's true.

Hell, he still gets bad weeks, weeks where he has to drag himself to get out of bed, to shower, to brush his teeth, to eat. But he can call his friends now, have them talk him down. Or he can make extra therapy appointments.

So, he still has bad days, maybe he always will. But he also has good days. Great days. Fucking awesome days. Weeks, sometimes.

He's getting better. Slowly. And the parasite is still there, burrowed deep inside. But it's smaller, now. Manageable. Maybe, someday, it'll be gone completely. And Ronan thinks that that day will be the best day.

And, above all, he knows it's okay to be okay.

[nellie-elizabeth]

Queliot Fic: “Overthinking It”

Okay so I wrote this way before yesterday. Obviously. And there are a ton of moments in it that now seem super fucking depressing given the finale, but I was practically done with it and I didn’t just want to scrap it, so I’m posting it here. My very first Queliot fic. Woohoo what a *super duper fun time* to be dipping my toes into this fandom. I’m so devastated that I’ve been shaking for hours and last night after watching the episode I couldn’t fall asleep for hours. So that’s where I’m at.

But hey, good news? This fic has nothing to do with the finale! It has nothing to do with the Monster or a post-possession reunion! It’s something I started working on after seeing episode 3x05, in a made up world where Eliot can’t quite lie to himself about how he’s feeling, and Q is stubborn enough to force the issue. This takes place post 3x06, and so it does include reference to Q’s depression and Benedict’s suicide. I know in the show Q had to run off and find a way to get the key, but here I’m letting him hang out in Fillory for a hot second. Because he deserves it, damn it.

I hope you enjoy... or I hope it distracts you from the pain... or something. Here’s my overly indulgent first attempt at Queliot! I don’t think I quite have the character voices down just yet, and this is largely unedited, but I wanted to share it anyway. Hang in there, guys. We can get through this together.

Cross-Posted to AO3: 

"How did he die?" Eliot asked. He said the words solemnly, without a hint of affectation or pretense, sliding down to sit next to Q on the floor with his back against the wall. The news that Benedict was dead felt like a dull, unreal spot in the center of Eliot's chest. He hadn't really known the mapmaker all that well, if he were being honest, but Benedict had become part of the texture of Fillory for him. He was there, like... well, not like scenery, exactly, but like something static, immutable. He'd never once tried to get to know the man, and he felt an uncomfortable squirm of guilt at the thought.

Quentin stared at the ground between his feet for a long moment, until Eliot leaned over slightly and nudged their shoulders together. "Q?" he asked softly. "What happened?"

"He - uh - the... the key, it sort of - did something to him," Q said. "He... um. He killed himself, El."

"Oh, shit," Eliot said, feeling his throat constrict. The haunted look on Q's face suddenly made a lot more sense. "That's - fuck, that's awful. The key made him do it? How?"

Q shrugged, their shoulders rubbing together a bit as he did so. Eliot may have been imagining it, but he thought Q was using the movement to move just the slightest bit away from him. He tried not to be hurt by the thought, focusing instead on Q's careful, quiet words. "It was, like, a depression key, I guess? When you held it, you'd see this cruel version of yourself, saying all the worst, most hateful things you secretly think about yourself... Poppy said it got to fifty percent of people right away, and they just... killed themselves to escape from the thoughts. Poppy was strong enough to hold on, but I guess Benedict..." he trailed off, his voice fading to a barely audible whisper. He still wouldn't meet Eliot's eyes.

Eliot could feel his heart pounding abnormally fast in his chest, and there was a strange ringing in his ears, but it actually took his mind a moment to catch up with his body's automatic responses of pure terror. "Q," he said, his voice coming out sharper than he'd intended, once the ramifications of Quentin's words had finally sunk in. "Did you touch that fucking thing? Did you?"

Quentin looked up at him, and Eliot didn't need to hear his answer. "Fuck," he said, and without pausing to think about it, he grabbed Quentin and pulled him against his chest, turning them so he could hold Q's face against his shoulder, keeping a firm grip on the back of Q's neck with his hand. "Fuck, are you okay?" he said, alarmed to hear the waver in his own voice as he gripped Q tighter.

"I'm fine," Quentin said, but he had his arms wrapped around Eliot and he was hold him so tight that Eliot could feel their heartbeats pounding together. "I'm okay, I'm... I think I'm okay."

"Don't," Eliot said, and then stopped, trying to calm himself down enough to say what he needed to say. The truth was, the thought of Q hurting himself had him gripped in a terror so profound he felt like he couldn't breathe. "Just, don't, okay?" he said finally, not sure exactly what he meant, not sure if it was the wrong thing to say. He simply didn't think he could manage anything more eloquent under the circumstances.

He felt Quentin let out a shuddering breath and then start to pull back, and it took a truly herculean effort to allow him to move away. But Eliot did, letting Quentin pull back far enough for them to make eye contact. "Eliot," Q said, his voice sad, and quiet, but also calm and strong. "I'm okay. Obviously things aren't... I mean, there's a lot of not so great things in our lives right now, but I'm not in that place. I'm handling my shit."

Eliot gave a brief little nod, and felt his lips twitch as he tried to force himself to smile. He met Q's stare dead-on, and squeezed the hand that was still behind Q's neck. "You come to me, or to Julia, or whoever the hell you want, but you don't go through any of this shit alone. Promise me."

There were other words that Eliot wanted to say, but didn't - I'd die if anything happened to you and please don't leave me and I'm not strong enough to face any of this without you.

"Yeah, okay. I promise," Q said, smiling slightly. "Thank you, El."

"Always," Eliot said, and because he couldn't quite help himself, he leaned forward to place a kiss on Quentin's mouth. He told himself it was fine, that he and Margo kissed like this, just a firm, solid press of dry lips, a declaration of friendship, of devotion, of love, but not like that or anything. Hey, if Eliot was going to spend the rest of his life pretending not to be in love with Quentin Coldwater, he might as well go for broke.

But Quentin didn't exactly stick to the game-plan. For a second, Q allowed the kiss, passive and still under Eliot's touch, but after a moment he shifted, bringing one hand up to slide into Eliot's hair, the other coming to rest over his heart. His lips parted, ever so slightly, and Eliot was simply not a good enough person to resist that, and before he'd given himself permission to do it, he was parting his own lips and pulling Q closer, one arm snaking almost by instinct around Q's waste, as Q deepened the kiss even further, making a soft, contented little sound into Eliot's mouth as he did so.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Eliot had always assumed that familiarity would make physical touch boring somehow, but he saw now that fifty years of being with this man hadn't been nearly long enough to get tired of him. Eternity wouldn't be enough time. He recognized the little sounds Q was making, recognized the way Q's hands were moving against the nape of his neck, sliding down to his lower back, and he also knew how to reciprocate, didn't need to plan it - supporting Q's head when he pressed his tongue into his mouth, stroking his thumb along the skin of Q's neck, all of it drawing them closer, all of it feeling so fucking good, a better high than Eliot had ever gotten from an illicit substance. The familiarity was part of the thrill, the knowledge that even though their bodies had technically never done this, (barring one hazy night with Margo), their minds and souls still contained a lifetime of connection. Eliot let his mind go blank, stubbornly refusing to think about what an awful idea this probably was. He felt Q shift the kiss to something sharper, felt just the barest hint of teeth against his lower lip, and let out an involuntary low moan, moving his body forward so they were pressed flush together from head to hips, so he could feel -

And then Q pulled away, taking his hands away from Eliot entirely and shuffling backwards on his knees until they were no longer touching. "No, I - " he said, pulling a hand through his hair in frustrated confusion. "No, sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry - " he stood, and was already stumbling backwards a few steps down the hall before Eliot could get to his feet.

"Wait," he said, feeling oddly desperate, like if Q walked away right now he'd never see him again. "Q, wait." And Quentin stopped.

Of course, there was the fact that Eliot had no idea what to actually say. He thought briefly about rushing forward, pushing Q up against the nearest wall and - but no, he couldn't do that. He had to be a fucking responsible adult and not maul his partner - his friend - the person who he had but also hadn't spent fifty years loving. He had to use his words. "Fuck. I didn't... I don't know - " Eliot babbled, and as he walked the last few paces to Q, he reached his hands out automatically, looking to anchor himself the best way he knew how.

Quentin, to his credit, didn't jerk away when Eliot's hands reached out for his shoulders, but Eliot could tell he wanted to. "I'm sorry, Q," Eliot said finally, finding the words to be utterly inadequate.

"It's okay," Q shrugged under Eliot's hands. He had this horrible little smile on his face, one that screamed hopelessness and low self-worth. "I'm sorry too. I mean, you told me you didn't... and I wasn't trying to, um... I guess I just miss you."

And if that didn't make Eliot feel like the biggest asshole in the universe... "I miss you too," he said, mostly to get that miserable, sheepish expression off of Q's face. Not that he didn't mean it, because Gods he meant it. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do, Quentin," he said, seriously.

Something sparked in Q's eyes at Eliot's use of his full name, and he tightened his jaw, his throat bobbing before he spoke again. "What do you want to do?" he asked simply.

"Honestly? I want to keep kissing you."

"And after that?" Q said, his tone resolute, although Eliot was sure he'd felt him go tense under the pressure of Eliot's hands on his shoulders.

Eliot waggled his eyebrows a little bit, unable to resist the urge to break the tension, and Q let out an involuntary huff of exasperated amusement, before reaching a hand out to slap Eliot lightly on the arm. "Be serious." But there was a bit of hope in his eyes now, and Eliot didn't know how the hell he was supposed to live with himself if he snuffed that out again.

"I seriously love you, Q. And I'm seriously afraid I'm going to ruin everything." Eliot said. The words were as much a surprise to him as they evidently were to Quentin, whose jaw literally dropped for a moment before he realized and snapped it shut.

"You're un-fucking-believable," Q said finally. His tone was easy enough for Eliot to read, although he was sure he was one of the only people in the world who would be able to - Q sounded a little angry, maybe, but mostly just blank, a frightening sort of nothing that Eliot was all too familiar with from a lifetime spent with this man. It usually meant Q was about to yell at him.

"Q, I'm a mess, okay?" he said quickly, to cut Quentin off. It was important for him to hear this, for him to understand. "And when we were there, in the past, it was different, but here, everything's so complicated, and if I fuck things up and I lose you, I'd never get over it, okay? Can't we just - I don't know, can't we just be - us and not deal with - like - the specifics?"

It sounded pathetic to his own ears, and based on the grim look on Q's face, he was similarly unimpressed. "So what, you're saying you don't want to put a label on it? El, for fuck's sake, we were married, we had a kid - "

"You and Ari were married, Q - "

"Don't give me that crap. You don't want to be with me now, that's fine, but don't fucking pretend like what we had wasn't real. You don't get to take that from me."

Q still looked angry, but there was also a tinge of desperation, of fear, hiding behind his eyes, and Eliot, as if such a thing were possible, felt even worse. "Let's go somewhere we can talk," Eliot said finally, struggling to keep his voice calm. He had no idea what he was doing, but there was one thing he was sure of - he had to fix this. He couldn't stand to see Q hurt, and it was infinitely worse to know he was the cause of it.

He grabbed Quentin's wrist, resisting the overwhelming instinct to take his hand and tangle their fingers together, like they used to do when they'd go on walks to get away from the mosaic for a couple of hours. Q didn't fight him, but he kept his posture stiff as Eliot steered him through the castle and finally into his own bedchambers. Fen was nowhere to be seen, luckily. She was probably attending to running the kingdom along with Margo. Which was maybe what Eliot was supposed to be doing, but... fuck it. This had to be more important right now.

"It was real," Eliot said firmly, as soon as the door was closed and he was facing Q again. "It was fucking real, and I'm not trying to brush it aside, or..."

"But yes you are," Q interrupted, his voice just a touch too loud, a touch too high. "What you said, about... about that not being us when we have a choice... we had a choice, El. Sure, we were stuck in the past, and we were both committed to the quest, but none of that meant we had to fuck each other or raise a family together or be a goddamn couple - we chose that, didn't we?"

Eliot, horrifyingly, felt like he might be about to cry. He stared at Q, his beautiful, brave Q, and he really, really wanted to just say fuck it and go to him and, well, propose on the spot or do something equally insane to prove his devotion and love. But he couldn't do that. He wasn't strong enough for it and at some point Q was going to realize it, or Eliot was going to do something unbelievably cruel and then he'd lose Q entirely.

"We did," he finally said, pushing through a crack in his voice. "We did choose it, and I'm glad we did, it's just..."

"Eliot," Quentin said, stepping closer to him and bringing his hands up to place them on either side of his face. He tilted Eliot's head down so their noses were almost touching. "Do you trust me?"

"Obviously," Eliot said, although the word didn't come out quite as flippant as he'd planned.

"Nothing can fuck us up, El," Q said with conviction.

At this, Eliot pulled away slightly, keeping himself bent slightly towards Q, but creating a distance between them, to ease the temptation to press into him, kiss the words out of his mouth, show him exactly how he felt in the only way he'd ever been any good at. He felt like he might be trembling, which was all sorts of pathetic.

"You say that, but I think you're underestimating what a dick I can be - "

"I'm not," Q said, a hint of humor coloring his otherwise serious tone. "Believe me, I've factored that in. Sit down." He pulled Eliot forwards into the room and maneuvered them so they were sitting on the edge of the bed, facing each other. Q took Eliot's hands in his and looked at him for a long moment, and Eliot, remembering the way he'd looked away from Q in the throne room just days ago, forced himself to hold eye contact. He owed Quentin at least that much.

"Do you remember when we had that threesome with Margo?" Quentin asked casually, and it startled a laugh out of Eliot.

"Uh, yeah, Q, it's a little hard to forget."

"Well, that was a fucked up mistake and it shouldn't have happened," Q said. "Not because of you, although you were obviously in a really bad place at the time... I mean, it shouldn't have happened because... well, I was cheating on Alice, and because we were all under the influence of an emotional overdose and way too much booze... it totally fucked over my relationship with Alice and I still don't think we've recovered from it, if I'm being honest."

Eliot didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say, and he honestly had no idea where Q was going with this. After a moment, Quentin took a deep breath and continued. "But you and me? We were fine. We were good friends before that, and we were good friends after that, and we forgave each other without even needing to discuss it. And then, El, two days ago I told you I wanted to be with you, and you rejected me, and we're fine. I mean, yeah, you hurt me, but you didn't lose me because of it. I'm still here, and even if you said right now that you don't want me, it would still be okay. Because we're stronger than that - we're strong enough to live more than fifty years together and still love each other at the end of all of that."

There was another pregnant pause, and Eliot could feel his heart pounding fast again, this time the terror mixed with a dangerous dose of hope and love and all sorts of mushy things he was hardly able to admit even in his own mind. Q continued, a little quieter, after letting the silence stretch and grown between them. "So if we give this thing a shot and it all goes to hell a week from now, it'll suck. But it won't break us, because nothing can.  We can go back to being friends, closer than most. You tell me right now you don't want this, and I'll leave it alone, Eliot. But if you do - "

And then Eliot was kissing him, a little messy, a touch too desperate, lacking the finesse of their earlier kiss, pulling Q forward, practically into his lap. "Yes," he said against Q's lips. "Yes, I do. I really, really, do."

Eliot could feel Q smile, the clack of their teeth together as he moved his mouth away from Eliot's and slid his face down to the crook of his neck and let out a somewhat shaky laugh. "Okay. Good. So you're done being an idiot."

Eliot laughed back. "Not by a mile, sweetheart. But that's okay, that's why I have you." He felt like he might be having an out of body experience, and he was pretty sure the rest of the world wasn't going to let them stay happy for long, but for now, he was allowed to push his hand into Q's hair and he was allowed to nudge Q's face off of his shoulder and connect their lips again. He was allowed to let himself feel this, and that was more than enough at the moment. He wasn't sure he was convinced by Q's reasoning - he'd fucked up so many good things in his life before - but he trusted his - what, boyfriend? That felt weird. Maybe when managed to tear his lips away from Quentin's neck, he'd ask him what they should call each other... it wasn't his top priority at the moment.

Later, actually much later, Eliot noticed with some level of smug satisfaction, seeing the black sky through the window, he was curled up with Q beside him in his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling comfortably blank and exhausted, in a good way. He turned his head slightly so he could place a kiss against Q's forehead where it rested on his shoulder. "I feel a bit guilty," Eliot said, sighing in pleasure as Q squirmed against him, trying to get impossibly closer.

"Why?"

"This conversation started because Benedict's dead, and now I'm laying here, happier than I think I've ever been honestly, and..."

"Death makes people horny," Q said sleepily, nuzzling his nose in to Eliot's shoulder. Eliot laughed - more like giggled, and couldn't be bothered to care about his dignity.

"Hm, so that's what this is? You were horny so you came to your reliable pal - "

Q smacked him in the chest hard and sat up to look down at Eliot, but he was smiling. "Yeah. Also I really love you a lot, and you were being an asshole, and walking around with a depression monster telling you what a worthless piece of shit you are kinda gets in a person's head."

The grin slid off of Eliot's face as he looked up at Quentin. "You're worth everything to me, Q."

Q looked at him for a long moment, and Eliot had the overwhelming urge to crack a joke, change the subject, do something to ease the bubble of tension in his chest, but he'd decided to actually try for once, and that meant saying some of this shit out loud, didn't it?

"Okay," Q said finally. "Thank you." And then he smiled an easy smile, leaned over to press his lips briefly against Eliot's (both of their lips were swollen from how much they'd been kissing each other over the past few hours) and then flopped back down on Eliot's chest. "Let's get some sleep."

Q was asleep within minutes, and Eliot, to his surprise, felt himself drifting off almost immediately after him. Maybe they were actually done overthinking it, this time. Maybe it would work. Maybe they'd bring magic back and they'd defeat the faeries and they'd rule Fillory alongside Margo and Fen, and... and maybe none of that would happen, but he'd still get to keep this incredible person at his side when everything fell the fuck apart. Honestly, he was pretty happy with his options either way.

I didn’t really have a good way to end this, so I just cut it off here. Obviously the show would diverge from canon at this point, pretty wildly... in any case, at one point I might have considered writing more, seeing how the two of them becoming a canon couple in season 3 would affect the overarching plot moving forward. Maybe someday I’ll do just that, but right now everything is too raw. I hope this fic was a comfort or a distraction for some of you who might be feeling as low as I am right now...

[eponymous-rose]

Fic: Artist’s Block [Jester, Mighty Nein | T | 3900 words]

[FFN | AO3 | Campaign Two Stories | Campaign One Stories] 

Jester hasn’t drawn anything since the abduction.

Artist’s Block

So, look, there are times when you put pen to paper and you just can't really think of anything in particular to draw, you know? It's seriously, seriously not a big deal. It happens all the time, and then you just doodle some dicks and think about something funny, and before you know it, there's a whole sunset on the page, full of majestic colors and sweeping emotional vistas. And, of course, the sun looks just like a butt.

It happens all the time. Sometimes you just have to wait a bit before your hand remembers how do to it right. It's okay. He'll wait for you to get it right, definitely. He doesn't get bored, definitely. He just wants a friend, and if you stop, he definitely, definitely won't get mad at you and never come see you again ever at all forever and ever.

Jester knows this. Jester hasn't drawn anything since the abduction.

It's not that Jester feels any different. It's just that everybody else is being super duper weird, is all.

Nott watches her with big, wide eyes, like Jester's something amazing she doesn't quite think is real. Fjord looks at the ground a lot of the time, and he's always quiet and angry, but never at any of them. Molly and Yasha and Frumpkin are gone. Caduceus makes dead people tea.

When Beau puts a hand on Caleb's shoulder and Caleb leans into the comfort of a friendly touch instead of flinching away, Jester has to blink back the tears that pool in her eyes and make the back of her throat all scratchy, because that's weird. That's too weird. That's too different. That's too much time, too many things happening. Too much that she missed.

Her chest aches like she's sick or something. She pulls out her notebook and stares at the words on the page: why didn't you come? She hopes it doesn't sound like she's angry, because if it sounds like she's angry, maybe he'll get sad and go away. She wants to clarify, because four words can't get a lot of information across, but in the end she just traces over the words with her pen and then closes the book and goes to sleep.

She hopes it doesn't sound like she's angry.

"Hey," Beau says, crouching down next to Jester's bedroll. Her voice is a bit too loud, considering everyone's sleeping nearby, but it's the first time they've had to set a watch since the Shepherds, and Jester's pretty sure everyone else is awake anyway. "You good?"

"I am really good," Jester says, slowly, like she's testing out each word.

Beau snorts. "That's convincing." But she winces after she says it, like maybe she knows it was a bit harsh. "Nobody's going to get you. Okay? We're all paying attention. We're all keeping close. Caleb set his string up. We've got the cool bubble thing. It's not going to happen again." There's an awkward silence, and then Beau puts a hand on her arm and says, "Besides, if it does? We'll all be with you, this time."

"Thanks, Beau," Jester says, then turns on her side to look up at her. "That's kind of messed up, though. I don't really want you all being tortured and stuff."

"Oh! Yeah, no, uh, I really maybe didn't think that one through."

"Lots of yelling and cursing and manacles."

"Right, yeah, sure."

"Super uncomfortable when you're trying to sleep at night."

"Uh-huh. Yeah. No, I can see that."

Jester sits up, drawing her knees closer to her chest. "It kind of made things better, really, knowing that you were all okay. Once we figured out it was just the three of us. Once we knew you weren't all super dead, like if they slit your throats while you were sleeping or something."

"Fuck," Beau says. "I hadn't even thought that you wouldn't know if we were okay."

Jester shrugs. "You weren't, though. I mean, all of you weren't okay, though."

It looks like Beau's about to say something, but then she thinks better of it and just sighs instead. "No. We really weren't." She shifts so that she's right in Jester's eyeline and drops a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Get some sleep, roomie. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay, Beau." Jester manages a smile, then swipes away the tears she hadn't even felt falling. "Don't get captured or carried away by awful slaver dudes or tortured or anything, okay? Promise?"

Beau grins bigger than she has in a long time. "Promise."

Nott leans into her a little more than could be explained by just the lurching of the wagon, but Jester doesn't mind, cuddling closer without trying to be too obvious about it. Nott gets jumpy, sometimes, about closeness, no matter how badly she seems to want to be near her friends. That much hasn't changed.

"I'm glad you're back," Nott says, breaking a silence they'd been keeping up for hours. "You're always so kind. I think I got worried, after Molly, that we maybe weren't going to get to keep kind people around."

"Beau is kind," Jester says, giving up on subtlety and pulling Nott closer, leaning her chin against the back of Nott's head. "She's weird about it, but she's getting better."

"She's grumpy," Nott says, holding up a finger. "An important distinction. Fjord's still scared. Caleb's wonderful, but I think maybe he's scared, too. Mr. Clay's weird. But you? You're kind. Right from the start, you were always kind to me."

Jester blinks a couple times and realizes that she's about to cry. Lately, it feels like she's always about to cry. "Is that what you would have said about me if–" She chokes the words off and sniffles, trying not to get snot on Nott's hood.

Nott squirms in her half-hug, turning back to look at her, and her eyes are wide, again. Scared. Awed. "If what?"

"It's nothing," Jester says, sniffling again. "It's just nothing. It's stupid."

Nott looks at her just a bit too long, then sighs and settles back into the hug. "Of course I would've said nice things about you, if you hadn't come back. We all would have. And they would've all been true." She clings a little tighter to Jester's arm. "And I'm so glad that now you're here to hear me say them."

"You don't have to pretend, you know," Caleb says. He'd been doing his fish impression, the one where he'd stand a bit outside of her normal conversational space, not quite staring, just opening and closing his mouth without actually deciding to say anything, so Jester's a bit surprised when he manages to force the words out. "I think the rest of us understand better than you think."

Jester pauses midway through pulling a blank notebook off a shelf—something with the leather cover dyed bright and colorful that makes her feel a little warmer inside—and stares at him. "You're being weird, Caleb. Even for you."

His cheeks flush, and he turns on his heel. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

She sighs, snagging his sleeve before he can storm off. "Come on, Caleb. You always start a conversation and run off. Don't be a dick. Just say something."

He freezes, and for a second she thinks maybe she got through this time, but he just shakes his head and yanks his arm free.

With a heavy sigh, Jester turns back to the book she was looking at... and finds herself face-to-face with an orange spotted cat sitting like a bookend at the edge of the shelf. She darts a glance at Caleb, standing stock-still further down the aisle of books with his back to her, and then looks back at the cat. She blinks, slowly, and is delighted when the cat blinks back.

"Aw, Lumpy! I didn't know you were back!" She scoops him into her arms, and he claws his way up to her shoulder, butting his head against her cheek, coiling his long body and tail scarf-like along the back of her neck, purring against her so loudly that her teeth are practically vibrating in her skull. "Little lumpy Frumpkins," she coos, reaching with one hand to smoosh his face against hers, and giggles as he swipes a sandpaper tongue against the tears on her cheek. "I missed you, too."

Caduceus gives super good hugs. He's big and warm, and when he laughs a little, his voice echoes, bassy and comforting in his chest. She clings to him a little longer than she needs to, probably, but he doesn't seem to mind, bringing a big hand up to ruffle her hair, still chuckling to himself. When she finally pulls back, he grins crookedly at her. "Glad I could help."

She looks down at the faint white scar that is the only remnant of what had been a deep gash along her shoulder and collarbone, aside from a few still-crumbling bits of whatever weird fungus stuff Caduceus used to do his healing. Rolling her shoulder, there's no hint of pain. "That's kind of amazing."

He beams back. "You do some amazing things yourself, from what I saw in the fight back there. Really cool stuff. Really cool."

"Well," Jester says, waving a hand regally, "I'm pretty great, mostly. The Mighty Nein are all pretty great."

His smile gets a bit vague, and he takes a step back, giving her space. "Now, I'd been meaning to say, I'd understand if you're not comfortable counting me as part of that group just yet."

She folds her arms and considers him, keeping a serious face as long as she can, then shrugs. "Well, that's a really nice thing to say, but we literally pretty much always just add new people to the Nein whenever we meet them, mostly. Nice people, anyway."

His smile brightens again. "And you consider me a nice person?"

"Honestly? Kind of scary-nice." Jester drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Nott and I were maybe sort of betting that there was a chance you'd turn out to be a vampire or a werewolf or something."

"Oh." He pauses, apparently digesting that. "For some reason, I'm feeling like I should maybe apologize for the let-down."

She giggles. "No. Not really. It's good that you're nice. I think that's starting to become what this group is all about."

He nods, slowly. "You know, I'd noticed that. Even the people who were just with us for a bit, at the beginning. The little one who was scared but led us into the dungeon anyway. The big one who was so dedicated to saving her people. The guy with the little bird who was opening cages, too. Just all people who are clearly in the habit of doing nice things, coming together to do much bigger nice things. It's, well. It's nice. The Mighty Nein are mighty nice."

"I think so, too," Jester says, then looks up past him. "Oh. Do you think we should maybe be calling for help or something? I think I can hear them yelling our names up there. They probably didn't see us fall in the pit trap, probably."

He laughs, patting her on the back. "I didn't want to interrupt your train of thought, but that seems like a really great thing to do."

She finds Fjord on the roof.

It's a quiet little inn they're staying at, with a tavern that takes up most of the building, leaving the sleeping quarters jammed up in the rafters. Not the finest establishment the Nein have ever graced with their presence, but far from the worst. Mostly, Jester just likes how tall it is, stretching up toward the stars, so when everyone else goes down to grab a late dinner at the tavern, she shimmies her way out the window and onto the sloped roof, staring up at the sky.

"You just scared the absolute shit out of me," Fjord says, practically from underfoot.

"Fjord!" She plunks down next to him, delighted. "What are you doing up here–" She lowers her voice, dramatically. "–on this romantic, moonlit night."

"It's, uh, it's mostly just clouded over right now, looks like."

She follows his gaze up to the sky, and sure enough, the few stars that are visible are quickly being overrun by patches of cloud. "Aw, man." She glances at him sidelong. "What are you even doing up here, anyway? I thought you went down with the others."

Fjord shrugs. "Wanted to think a bit. Seemed like a nice night for it. You too?"

"Me too." She bumps him with her shoulder, feels him start to move away before visibly stopping himself from flinching. "How're those nightmares? Still all terrible and death-y?"

He clears his throat. "No, mostly just the usual type. Minus the seawater, I mean. Lots of open ocean and just, you know, floating."

"Hmm," she says, and pulls out her notebook, pretending to take notes with an invisible pen. "Mm-hmm. Very interesting. Floating or drowning?"

He narrows his eyes at her, but she catches the faint smile at the corners of his mouth. "No, no more drowning. Not lately, anyway. It's almost tranquil, if I didn't know what was going to happen next."

Jester chews on her invisible pen. "Yeah, but that just sounds peaceful. How do you know what's going to happen next?"

"Well," Fjord says, slowly, like he's explaining something to a little kid, "I drown. Or something bad happens. That's how this works."

"Yeah, but it might be different this time."

"It probably won't."

"Yeah, but it might."

She watches the tension crawl back up into his shoulders as he looks away. After a moment, he inhales sharply. "Did you see that?"

She blinks, follows his gaze, and watches another distant flicker of lightning cut a jagged swath across the sky. "Pretty far away."

Fjord tilts his head to one side, listening to the distant rumble of thunder. "Yeah."

Jester straightens, leaning forward, straining her eyes at the distant storm. "You think she's there?"

"Could be."

She smiles, pulling up her knees and cradling her notebook closer to her. "I hope so. I missed her so much."

With a sigh, Fjord curls his own legs up to his chest. "Me too. Feels better to know she's with us. Feels better to know she's safe."

And just like that, Jester feels her whole body jolt with the remembrance of the sounds Yasha had made in the cell next to theirs—raspy not-screams, harsh intakes of breath that spoke both of pain and of the terrible effort expended to suppress that pain. She remembers looking at Fjord, then not looking at Fjord, overwhelmed at seeing her own expression reflected in his face. She remembers her heart hammering so hard her fingers were twitching with the rhythm of it, she remembers breathing so fast against the gag in her mouth she thought she was going to choke, and more than anything, she remembers the anger, the rage, hot and unfamiliar and terrifying in its intensity.

Why didn't you come?

The first drops of rain splash cold against her forehead, and she blinks, breathing rapidly. Fjord hasn't moved from beside her, and she can't bring herself to look over at him, so she watches the distant storm instead, the zigzag of nearer lightning, the faint muffled flashes of bolts farther away. "I hate this so much," she says, hoarsely. "I don't like it at all. I don't like that this is what I feel like all the time."

"I know," Fjord says, his voice rough. "I'm sorry. I should've been stronger, should've–"

She grabs him by the arm, then pushes his shoulder hard enough that he's forced to turn to face her, eyes wide and startled. "Stop saying that. You know it's not your fault. Stop saying that, because if you weren't strong enough, that means I wasn't either, and that means nobody else was, and– and that's a lie. That's wrong. We were strong enough, we were good enough, we were smart enough, and this still happened, and now we all have to deal with it together. Okay?"

"Yeah," he says, too quickly, casting his eyes down again. "Yeah, of course, Jester."

She backs away a bit, glancing over to find that her book must've fallen off her lap with her quick movement. It's probably getting wet in the rain. She doesn't care, not really. "Fjord, I don't want to do this without you."

He doesn't look up, doesn't meet her gaze. His words are almost lost to a louder rumble of thunder. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You really, really are, though." When he doesn't reply, Jester reaches out for her book, feels her throat close up at the way the pages are sticking together. She can see some ink running from the inside. It's stupid. It's just a book. It's–

"Molly's dead," Fjord says, dully, but when she looks up he's staring up at her from beneath a furrowed brow, meeting her gaze head-on for what feels like the first time in months. "He's dead, Jester. This whole thing, right from the start, he was like a kid in a candy store, just having the greatest fucking time, and we went and got him dead and buried. We can't do much worse than that."

Her fingers tighten on the book, white-knuckled. "It wasn't us."

"He's still dead."

She slams her book down against the rooftop tiles between them, sending up a little shower of water droplets, just as thunder booms somewhere nearby. "And we're still alive!"

The rain patters against the rooftop around them, cold enough that Jester can see her breath in the air, cold enough to mask the way she's shivering, shaking with fear and fury. Fjord slowly brings a hand up to his face, swiping the rainwater away from his eyes.

"We're still here, Fjord," Jester says, more quietly this time. "We can't change what happened. The only thing that matters is what happens next. And I want all of us to be there. We should all be there."

"Yeah. We should." He straightens, pushing to his feet. "We should probably get out of the rain before we get struck by lightning up here."

Jester doesn't move. "Fjord."

He looks at her, and something in his face softens in a way she's not sure she's ever seen before. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, again, and this time she believes him. She decides to believe him, maybe.

They stay like that, in silence, for a long while, until the booming of the thunder gets loud enough to shake the tiles of the roof underfoot. Still clutching the sodden remains of her book, she scrambles to her feet and slips back through the window, Fjord comfortingly close behind her. "Not going anywhere? Well, you're not going anywhere except out of the storm. It's probably a bad idea to get struck by lightning, probably."

"That's what I was just saying–"

"Really, Fjord, it's basic safety. I thought you were more practical than that."

"No, see, that's not what I meant. It was a callback to the thing we were talking about earlier–"

"All that training with seamen."

"Now, hold on."

"Long hours alone at sea, nothing but your weird wet dreams to keep you company–"

"Jester."

Jester sits, cross-legged, a short distance from the campfire and the rest of the party, and opens a fresh notebook on her lap.

It's her first time taking a watch in a long while, and certainly her first time venturing this far from the group at night, but she feels good, feels comfortable with the way the forest breathes around her. "I am watching you and I am super powerful," she says, just in case any evildoers are close enough to listen, then hunches over the page and starts to draw.

"This isn't for you," she says to the air, this time speaking to someone else entirely. "Not because I'm really mad at you anymore, but just because it isn't for you. You can see it if you'd like, and I think you'll probably enjoy it, but it's not for you."

She starts with a light sketch, tweaking poses and positioning a couple times before settling on a skeletal outline. It's one of her more ambitious projects, and she's not sure she's going to be able to get the details just right based only on harrowing memories and a couple of brief descriptions, but it'll be good enough.

She draws the Nein. She draws Beau, mid-strike, staff swinging around to counterbalance the arrow she's snatching out of midair before it can strike the figure beside her: Nott, hunched low to the ground, firing bolts with her crossbow and weaving a quick magical distraction to protect the figure beside her: Caleb, Frumpkin on his shoulder, fire blazing from his hands, mouth open to shout a warning to the figure beside him: Caduceus, quietly intent, a swarm of beetles crawling from one hand, the other clapped in a healing touch against the figure beside him: Shakäste, Grand Duchess at his side, summoning a powerful spiritual weapon to save the figure beside him: Keg, yelling her rage, weapons a blur, blocking all attacks against the figure beside her: Nila, eyes narrowed with focus, summoning bolt after bolt after bolt of lightning.

She draws Yasha, resplendent, with wings unfurled, a flower cradled gently in the palm of her hand. She draws Fjord, straight-backed and confident, spinning his falchion around to summon magic from its hilt. She draws herself, giant lollipop and all, grinning and gleeful in the chaos of battle.

And she draws Molly, beaming, flaring a handful of cards in one hand, a glinting sword in the other, standing between his friends and harm.

She pauses for a long while after she finishes, considering her work, then very carefully draws a dick in the corner. It's one of her better dicks. Real veiny.

Satisfied, she sits back on her haunches and pens the title: They Came Back.

She stretches her arms over her head, then pushes to her feet. She's definitely worked past the end of her watch shift, judging by the faint glint of rising sunlight in the east, but the others deserve a chance to rest, and she's feeling more awake than she has in a long, long time. There's a warmth in her chest that wasn't there before, only she thinks maybe it was always there, after all, just waiting for her to remember it.

She glances down at her work, making a show of frowning appraisingly, then nods. "I think it's pretty much the best," she says, to the air. "I'm a pretty amazing artist, you know."

Somewhere, just over her shoulder, she hears a faint chuckle and feels a gentle wave of amusement.

Jester pockets her notebook and makes her way back to camp, back to watching over her friends, back to waiting for the first light of morning.

[stressedasalways]

Not Like The Movies (3/8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2.5K

Story Summary: Today was just a bad day.  The simple mission had gone south. What started as an easy data extraction ended with you clutching your side trying not to bleed out.  And who should come to your rescue but the reclusive Avenger himself.

Story Warning(s): swearing, mentions of blood. All the Fluff

A/N - Smaller chapter as I needed it to end where it did.  More is coming. As always thank you so much for all your messages/likes/reblogs/reaction gifs.  I would let you all use the Stark drink machine if I could! 

AO3 Link  

Tumblr Links: Masterlist  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6 Part 7  Part 8

You skipped back to the golden elevator. Since you were by yourself it of course did absolutely nothing.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Agent L/N”

“Can you open the elevator?”

“I’m sorry Agent L/N you do not have access to this elevator.” You scrunched up your face and waited the few minutes before it did open with Bucky inside smiling.

“What’s with the face?” he immediately asked as you came in.

“It wouldn’t open for me.” you fake pouted.

Bucky snickered. “Just because you think F.R.I.D.A.Y and you have some friendship does not mean she will grant you access to a restricted area.”

“I thought me and her had an understanding.”

He rolled his eyes at you as the doors opened to the Avengers common room. You immediately beelined to the fancy drink machine getting yourself the next creation on your to be tried list.

“I’m starting to think you are only my friend because of that machine.” he laughed as he saw you take a large sip of your concoction, a huge smile of contentment on your face.

“I guess the jigs up Buckster. It was all part of my master plan. Getting shot, making your think I’m so amazing that you invite me up the the golden floor. And I would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for that meddling F.R.I.D.A.Y not letting me up solo.”

“You are the most ridiculous person I know doll.”

To stop your knees from buckling you shoved your drink in his face, “Whaddya think?”

To his credit he only looked at it strangely for a second before taking the drink from your hand and taking a sip. “Hmmm. Not bad.” he licked his lips and you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

“Good, you can have that one then while I make something else.”

“You don’t like it?

“Oh no, I actually think it's amazing. But I just have way too many drinks to try and not enough stomach or bladder or time to try them all.”

“Maybe you need to do what those wine tasters do. Line them all up and spit out after you try them.”

Your eyes got huge with the idea.

“No, no , no” he laughed. “That was not a real suggestion.”

“Well no of course not.” you could see relief wash over his face. “I could never spit these amazing drinks out. But I could just take a small sip of each one until I tried them all.”

“Uhhhhhhhhh” Bucky had no idea what to say.

“I love nothing more than watching you squirm Barnes. Now I believe you owe me the rest of the tour.”

You looked around at the sad looking gym. I mean, if you were staying at a Holiday Inn it may have been impressive. But as the private gym on the Avengers floor. It was shit.

It was clear this room was originally something else. Storage or maybe originally a part of a unit. But it has since been retrofitted with some sound paneling, a few machines, some weights and what appeared to be one the super soldier punching bags.

“This gym is depressing Bucky. It’s making me sad. It is literally stealing the happiness of the drink machine from my soul.”

“Don’t be so over dramatic.”

“I am never over dramatic, I am always the perfect level of dramatic. By the way, I spoke to Emma today, I’m going to start my PT tomorrow.”

“That's great! It means your healing up nicely.” Your face was squished up with thought and Bucky knew he was about to be convinced of something.

“Eh. She wants me back to rookie shape. ROOKIE. SHAPE. Do you know how much I hated my life when I was in rookie shape. A lot. It meant long workouts and running and god cutting out carbs and sugar!” You very dramatically placed your hand over your forehead, really playing it up.

“Never over dramatic my ass.”

You glared between your fingers. “Now none of that, especially when we are about to bargain.” Bucky took a deep breath. “So since it's your fault I was shot.”

“Now wait a minute, we never established that. I wasn’t even the one that sweeped that section.”

“He who smelt it dealt it Bucky.”

“What?!”

“You were the one that came to help cause you were the closest, cause it was your fault. Case closed, moving along.”

“No, No’ he laughed. “No moving on.”

“So you’re saying you want me to ask Romanoff whose fault it was. Or Barton? What are the chances they say it was their fault? What are the chances they blame the other one? Now what are the chances they blame you, the outsider who is not their closest friend.”

Bucky was at a loss. He swore you could sell sand in the desert.

“So now that we’ve established it was your fault I was shot. It is now also your fault I must give up good food, and work out even harder then I did when I was in some semblance of shape so I can match what I was when I was young.”

“Young? When was this a whole 3 years ago.”

“Shh… We are bargaining. This requires tact.”

Bucky sighed but could not hide the twitch of a smile.

“So, as I was saying. I now must work out, 5 days a week. And I am going to hate it. I even hate the idea of it. But you know what I hate more? Doing it alone. I need a gym buddy. Someone to help motivate me and keep me going. And destiny has chosen you Bucky because you owe me because you got me shot.” you always said the shot part dripping with sarcasm to make sure he knew there was no real blame. “Now Emma could probably be convinced to come up to this sad sad shell of a room. But it doesn't have the equipment I need. So then I won’t be getting the treatment I need to fully heal. And before you say you will move stuff or do whatever to bring my equipment in here. That still wouldn't help. Because this room is sad Bucky. It is the shitty gym. It's the main gyms sad inbred cousin who people are shocked has not been hit by a car crossing the street. I need the good gym Bucky, not only for my body but for my soul. Don’t make me work out in this sad gym. Cause then I will cry, and I’m sure it's hard to be all super duper soldier man with a sobbing woman in the corner.”

Bucky just shook his head. “Are you quite done?”

“Possibly.” you crossed your arms trying to look intimidating.

“I mean you were shot.” he said in the same flirty tone he had said in the Hydra warehouse.

“I was.” you smirked, already sensing your win.

“Fine, I will try my best to join you when you have PT. Mission dependent of course.”

And you leaped at him. He wasn’t expecting it but he managed to catch you as your wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Thank you Bucky!” You knew this was a big deal for him. A really big deal. He was agreeing to put himself out there for you.

As you pulled away you sensed his hesitation as your faces were only inches apart, but the moment quickly passed as you settled your feet back on the floor.

“Now....off to the jacuzzi!”

The ensuite was obviously attached to Bucky’s room. You made the conscious decision to try your best to walk right through. Focusing on the place where he slept, being with him in front of his nice big bed? No. That was not an option right now.

The bathroom was insane. It literally could have been from any 5 star hotel. Which it probably was. You’d never thought about it, but it would make sense that Stark would have it designed by some fancy designer person. The shower was huge and encased in glass, it had the overhead rain spray as well as shower heads all over the walls.

“I’ve only ever seen a shower like this in a magazine. I mean...wow. Does it feel absolutely amazing.”

“You are going to get mad at me again.”

“No Bucky do not tell me you don’t use all the options?” You could not believe this man.

“Sorry. I don’t need all those buttons and switches to just get clean. Showers are not meant to be this complicated.”

You sighed, “But, I mean, look at it! Ugh” you walked out of the shower and made your way to the tub. “I guess I will just have to teach you how amazing this shower can be.”

Thank god your back was turned to him. You did not mean to say that. Okay - maybe a little, But definitely not out loud. All you could think was please don’t say anything back, please don’t say anything back. Let it slide.

As you took the few steps to the massive tub you felt his hand lightly catch your wrist, pulling you to face him. Oh god.

His face looked like trouble personified. Your thoughts and heart began to race and all you could focus on was how he could probably feel your pulse with his hand.

“Is this something we can bargain?” the way his tongue rolled around the word made it sound like the hottest act imaginable.

You felt your breath hitch, and you could see the wicked smirk on his face grow. He’s never rendered you without a witty remark before, and you both could feel the power dynamics shift.

“Umm...I don’t remember you having access to add to the list.” you finally managed to whisper out.

He pulled in closer, you could feel the heat radiating off his whole body. “Well maybe I could convince you?”

His eyes never broke from yours as he ever so slowly got closer and closer. He removed his hand from your wrist and slowly placed it under your chin, directing you to look up at him.

You broke out into a nervous smile, “Maybe you can.” you whispered breathlessly.

“Maybe I can.” his breath was intoxicating on your face.

Just like that your lips finally made the contact you had been so desperately seeking since bleeding out on a Hydra floor.

He kept it sweet and slow, but the emotion behind it was intoxicating. As if he knew his other arm gripped around your back, keeping you steady. As the kiss ended he pulled his face just a fraction away before giving your lips two quick pecks before fully breaking contact.

“Fucking finally.” slipped quietly through your lips as you opened your eyes.

He laughed, placing his hands on your waist, careful of your left side, and pulling you back in for a hug. “I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time doll.”

You leaned your head up against his chest to find his face. “What took you so long?” you giggled.

He kissed the top of your head, “Clearly I am a stupid stupid man.”

“Well, clearly.” you replied while squeezing him tight. Taking in his scent with deep breaths, no longer having to worry about crossing lines.

“I feel like this requires talking or something.”

You debated mocking him for a second, but you knew this was not the time. You could feel the change in the air. “Of course.”

“This is all very...new for me.” Bucky started. “I already feel like I fucked this up by taking so long, and then kissing you in the bathroom. The bathroom? Really?” his tone was joking but you could tell there was some truth hiding in there.

“Don’t you dare say bad words about this bathroom. This is the bathroom which started it all. Your offer of a jacuzzi is what pulled me through. Nothing could have been more perfect other than maybe somehow kissing me when we first met. But then I probably would have thought you were just using a dying girl.”

“You were never going to die.” he laughed but you could sense the relief in his voice. He pulled away and sat on the edge of the tub and you quickly sat beside him, angling yourself more to face him. He started moving his hands through his hair and you could tell he was literally a nervous wreck. So you grabbed his hand and held it within both of yours. “Your hands are freezing.”

“I told you I run cold.” you smirked which seemed to ease him.

“Can I just spit some stuff out?”

You nodded.

“It’s been...Shit doll its been a very long time. I’m still trying to fully remember myself. And I feel like an idiot with you. You make me want to be who I used to be, even though I don’t really know who he was.”

“Bucky. I don’t know that person, I never would have. You are the person I know. You are the person who makes me laugh, who makes me feel safe, who flirts with me so hard I thought I was going to spontaneously combust a few times.” you laughed.

He snickered, “You didn’t play fair yourself.”

“I never agreed to play fair. I made my choice when we met in that base. I was gonna flirt with you or die trying.”

“Is it….” the question never left his lips.

“Tell me. Never feel you can’t tell me anything.” you said steadily.

“I feel it sounds childish, but can we take this slow?”

God, he was such an idiot. Did he really think that would scare you, or make you feel he was less than? You couldn't imagine his history. You hoped one day he could help you know more of it, no matter how painful. But for him to feel weak because of it?

“Bucky...absolutely. We don’t need to rush into anything. We are just us, and we will find our way together... Can I kiss you?” you whispered the end.

“Always.” he smiled before you gave him a chaste kiss.

“We will keep this between us for now. It’s only our business anyway.” you stated, knowing that was something he would want and wanted to save him the agony of trying to say it.

“Thank you. You know a very large part of me wants nothing more than to scream from the rooftops that I am lucky enough to be with you. But I’m not there yet.”

“I know, and I’m totally fine with that. This place is more gossipy than a high school, even us just being friends has had everyone talking. We don’t owe them anything we don’t want to give them.”

You sensed Bucky had gotten what he needed to say out, which seemed the perfect opportunity to lighten the mood.

“Now, if you don’t mind, you managed to distract me from fully meeting the tub” He laughed as you climbed in and maneuvered yourself so you were leaning fully back against one side. Your feet were fully stretched out and nowhere near to touching the end. Although you didn’t want to say it now, all you could picture was how perfect this tub was for two.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that doll.” And this time there was no hiding the emotion behind it all.

“I know.”

Part 4

Tags:   @waaaaaaitwhat​  @i-think-i-am-adorable  @quierdoofthestars  @moli1497  @ohhhotstan   @dani11708  @emabookcookie  @fairislesheets

[shookethbrooketh]

stars

chapter 27

dan soundly slept through the night; he must have been tired, as every logical position said he would have woken up multiple times either from situational anxiety or discomfort of the hospital floor. when he woke up, sun was shining through the windows, and margo wasn’t breathing.

summary: dan grew up in a normal 1930s london family with his parents and little brother. everything was completely and utterly normal… until the bombs started dropping. When dan was fifteen his father went off to war, and when he was sixteen he and his brother hayden were sent off to a foster family in rural england. he looked up at the stars and couldn’t help but wonder how something that beautiful could exist in such a broken world. just when he thought things would never get better, dan met phil, and he became the shining star of his life. but when phil turned eighteen and went off to war, dan couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, the stars would twinkle the same way again.

rating: t

genre: angst, fluff, history au, strangers to lovers, teenagers

whole fic warnings: warfare (not descriptive), bombings, fire, panic attacks, ptsd, epilepsy/seizures, homophobia, death, fighting/arguing, general angst, mentions of a car accident, hospitals chapter warnings: death, mentions of a car accident, hospitals, mentions of blood

chapter word count: 2.2k total word count: 40.4k

read it on ao3 read it on wattpad fic masterlist

a/n: this chapter’s super duper sad and kinda dark so be careful reading it! it should be better next chapter :) 

University was difficult for Dan, but he managed to keep up. As a law student, he’d found himself in about the hardest program possible, but the time it took up managed to distract him from all the people he missed. 

Of course, he still wrote to both Phil and Hayden every day, but his studies kept him from thinking about them every moment of every day, which was an extreme step up. 

His first semester was the hardest for multiple reasons. Being alone for the first time was a terrible struggle; he barely knew how to provide for himself. Had it not been for his roommate, he probably wouldn’t have managed to remember his schedule or even buy food. 

Luckily, he did make some friends while he was there. He chose to avoid most of the party scenes after being invited to one party and being hit on by multiple girls, but he found himself in plenty of study groups with other kids sharing his same struggles. He even met a few people who had loved ones off in the war and managed to bond with them over the shared situation. It was surprising, through all the stress, but Dan was somehow happy there. 

Despite his happiness at uni, Dan was even happier when his midterms were finished and it was time to go home for Christmas holiday.

When he pulled into the driveway, Hayden was waiting on the porch, bundled up in the cold. “Danny!” he shouted, and Dan was more than happy with the fact that he would never forget the joy on the child’s face. Dan jumped out of the truck and ran up to give him a hug. He’d gotten taller since Dan left. 

There was a certain warmth coming from the hug; he hadn’t left his brother since he was born, and reuniting with him after a few, long months was sweet enough that it materialized in warmth. 

Spending the holidays with Hayden and the family was nice, but being back in the house with nothing to do made it difficult not to think about Phil. Everything he did brought a sense of joy about him, even when it was negative, because he felt at home throughout it all, but he also felt a deep sadness he refused to acknowledge. Everything reminded him of both Hayden and Phil, and they just balanced out for him to have a decent holiday.

It was nice to head back up to the tree on the days when it wasn’t snowing or freezing; he even took Hayden with him so it would be just like the days of the past summer. On snowy days, he managed to have a snowball fight or two with Hayden, just as they did with Phil two years earlier. 

It was odd to think two years had passed; time was a bizarre construct that Dan had yet to figure out through the chaos. The day he first arrived two years earlier was one of the hardest for Dan to spend at the house, but he made it through. 

After a bittersweet few weeks, it was finally time for Dan to head back to uni. Dan and Hayden both were a bit less of wrecks that time, which comforted Dan plenty. Both knew it was time for Dan to go back to his adult life. 

It was about halfway through the spring semester when Dan was approached by the head of his dorm and told he was wanted by the president of the school. Dan was anxious as he approached the office, but it was significantly worse than he had thought. 

“Mr Howell, correct?” he asked, and Dan nodded. “We’ve received a call from a hospital in southwest England. Do you happen to have a brother named Hayden?” 

Dan’s heart raced. Hayden must have had an episode with his epilepsy. “Yes, sir; he’s my brother.” 

“He told the doctors to call you, and they called the university and told me to relay the message. He and who I assume are your parents were in a car crash last night. He’s alright, but your parents are in critical condition. I’m sorry.” 

Dan’s mind joined his heart in the race, and he hadn’t a clue what to say. “Thank you,” he muttered before blankly standing and walking out of the room. He had no memory of the latter of this interaction; he was buried in his own thoughts. 

Were they going to be alright? What would happen to Hayden if something happened to Margo and Harold? How could he ever tell Phil? What if Dan never got the chance to tell Margo how much she’d helped him after Phil left? Dan ran around campus to all his professors to tell them he’d have to go before frantically packing his things and hitting the road. He had to go home. 

He arrived at the same hospital where they’d taken Hayden for his past seizures and inquired a secretary near the front entrance as to whether or not the family was there. 

“Do you have Margo and Harold Lester?” he asked, eyes wide with anticipation and fear. 

“What’re they in for?” she asked in a careless voice. 

“They were in a car crash.” 

“Ask emergency.” 

Dan rolled his eyes and trekked to the emergency room, where he was told they’d been taken to intensive care. He finally made it to the ICU and the secretary there gave him a room number.

Margo and Harold were the only two in the room. The fact that Hayden didn’t have to be surrounded by complete strangers would have reassured him had he not been brought to tears just by the sight of them. It was barely possible to tell who they were; Harold was in a full body cast, and Margo had multiple casts on her body and even more bruises. A sob escaped his mouth as he looked at them; they were both unconscious. It was only a moment later when Dan realized Hayden was nowhere to be found. He was about to panic when a doctor walked in. 

“You must be Daniel,” the doctor said, looking down at his clipboard. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Your brother is downstairs in the cafeteria. We’ve tried to find him somewhere else to go, but he refused to leave and had us call you. A nurse took him to get some food; they’ll be back soon.” 

“Thank you, doctor. What happened?” Dan gestured towards the beds, refusing to look back at them again. He couldn’t imagine Hayden having had to witness that tragedy occur.

“They were driving and were hit head on by a drunkard. The front half of the car was bashed in, and they were both hit hard. Your brother was in the backseat, so he was flung forward and hit the driver’s seat. He’s got a good few bruises, and he jammed his arm in between the seat and the door and broke it, but he’s generally doing alright. Obviously he’s already been discharged.”

Dan nodded, speechless. “Hayden!” he shouted as he saw the boy coming up behind the doctor. A nurse wandered behind him nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. 

“Oh, good, the brother. Finally.” She didn’t seem to care much. 

Dan tried to hug Hayden, but he winced, so he backed off. He took a step back and looked at his brother; he had a bandaged cut on his forehead and bruises on one arm and a cast on the other. Regardless, he was beaming. “It’s so good to see you.” 

The first night was the easiest; Dan took Hayden home and they packed him a hospital bag full of his favorite clothes, toys, and snacks. They spent the evening together in front of the radio, and Dan couldn’t help but feel odd being in the house without Margo and Harold. There was a certain emptiness about it he couldn’t quite describe. 

They slept at the house that night and drove back to the hospital in the morning. There was an unwritten agreement that they simply wouldn’t talk about the incident. Dan couldn’t imagine how Hayden was feeling; after all he’d been through, he ended up in a car accident watching the second set of parents he got nearly bleed to death. 

They arrived at the hospital to a doctor holding them out of the room. “Harold is having a bit of an...incident. Have you had breakfast yet? You should go get some breakfast.” 

“We’ve already eat-” Before Dan even had a chance to finish, the doctor whipped back around and rushed back into the room. Dan sighed and took Hayden’s hand. “Do you want some ice cream?” 

Dan didn’t love feeding his brother ice cream at 10:00 in the morning, but he assumed it was better than whatever was to be found in the hospital room. They came back upstairs two ice cream cones later to find Harold hooked up to a breathing machine. “Why don’t you find something fun to play with in your backpack?” he asked Hayden, and he nodded and went to the chair in the corner of the room, where he started looking through his bag for something to occupy him. “I’ll be right back.” 

Dan left the room and found the doctor he’d spoken to the day before. “What happened to him?” 

“They’re both suffering from a lot of internal bleeding, and his flared up. Neither of them are stable; if I’m being honest with you, I don’t know if they’ll make it through the day.” 

Dan took a deep breath and bit his lip, looking back at Hayden in the corner of Margo and Harold’s room. “Thank you.”

He turned on his heel and walked over to Hayden, who was playing solitaire. “Got room for another?” 

It was a slow day of card games and hospital food until Harold gasped. Both the boys jumped and turned to his bed, where he was writhing in pain. Dan turned to Hayden, who looked about ready to cry on the site. “Come on,” he said, pulling him out of the room. “Doctor!” 

They let the doctors rush past them in a second attempt to save Harold, and Hayden started to cry. “Danny, is he dying?” 

Dan took a split second to consider this question. “I don’t know,” he replied, and Hayden’s sobs got louder. His parenting skills could definitely use some work. “But it’s going to be okay, alright? We’ve gotten through a lot together over the years, and we’re going to get through this.” 

Hayden’s cries softened until they stopped, and Dan wiped the tears from his brother’s puppy dog eyes. “Okay.” 

A doctor came out of the room and threw his bloody gloves in a trash can. “I’m sorry,” he said to the two of them, putting on a sad face although Dan knew this wasn’t new to him, “he’s gone.” 

Dan took Hayden’s hand and led him in to where Harold lay lifeless. He had a bit of blood around his mouth, but otherwise he looked as normal as a dead person could. “Do you want to say goodbye?” 

Hayden held back tears this time, as if he’d accepted the situation. Dan was so numb by then that he couldn’t think or feel enough to cry. “Goodbye, Harold.” He stood there for a moment, taking and squeezing his limp hand. “Thank you.” 

Dan finally broke at that, holding back tears of his own. “Bye, then,” he said, smiling weakly at the man who took him in. He thought of the times he’d taken Dan out driving. “Thanks for everything.” 

The doctors took him away shortly after, stopping to tell Dan they expected Margo to follow. According to them, it wouldn’t be as violent, but she was doing gradually worse rather than better. Eventually, her body would simply stop functioning.

After Hayden fell asleep in the chair, Dan stood at Margo’s bedside clutching her hand. “Please don’t leave,” he whispered. “I just want to be able to tell you how much you matter to me. Never has anyone supported me as much as you, save for Phil and maybe Hayden. I thought it was impossible, but you truly took on the role of my mum while I’ve been away from her. I don’t know how to express how thankful I am for that.” He paused for a moment, looking up at her closed eyes. In the dark, she reminded him of Phil. “And thank you for giving me the love of my life.”

Dan soundly slept through the night; he must have been tired, as every logical position said he would have woken up multiple times either from situational anxiety or discomfort of the hospital floor. When he woke up, sun was shining through the windows, and Margo wasn’t breathing. 

He left Hayden asleep and got up to call a doctor in; they concluded that she didn’t have a pulse, and Dan woke up Hayden. “It’s time to say goodbye.” 

This was a rougher goodbye for the both of them; apparently Hayden had grown closer to Margo since Dan had left. When they eventually wheeled her out, Dan slid down against the wall, his head in his hands. He’d been expecting this result, and although they both cried over Margo, Dan’s thoughts were occupied mostly by something else.

“How am I going to tell Phil?” 

[notveryglittery]

(in)competent

summary: he had to do at least one thing right today. words: 2,500 / ship: royality (platonic or romantic) warnings: self-esteem issues, negative thoughts, feeling useless, lots of crying notes: i had a bad day and i had old patton angst i'd been wanting to write that happened to relate directly to how i was feeling. pun credit goes to @do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them, thx nick. read on ao3.

Was it possible for Patton to be too emotional? He’d been pacing back and forth in his room for the last half hour, thinking about it. He represented Thomas’ emotions! He couldn’t be too emotional! Could he? Well, normally, he handled them pretty well. Sure, he hid the bad ones in the past, but he’d gotten better about it! He let the others know if he was having an off day, or if he needed a second cookie, or if he wanted a hug. He didn’t mope quietly in his own room, or hide behind fake smiles, or say he was fine when he actually wasn’t. He sought out his famILY for help. He was open and honest to Thomas about his ups and downs.

So why then, today, was he keeping to himself?

Patton didn’t want to blame Logan. Really! It wasn’t Logan’s fault that Patton was too emotional but… did he have to say it so harshly? Patton realized after it’d happened that it wasn’t the comment that had bothered him but the tone it’d been delivered with. Logan had a temper, they all knew this, but it was usually directed towards Roman. That wasn’t any better, of course! Roman didn’t deserve Logan’s hostility, even if he did dish it back with ease. It’d just made Patton realize that he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of Logan’s ire. Usually, Logan just expressed frustration with Patton’s puns or dismissed his silliness entirely. Sure, that hurt pretty badly, too, but Patton had grown used to it.

Today, though… Logan had snapped at Patton for not having a good enough grip on his feelings regarding a recent crush and had said Thomas was suffering because of it. They had more important things to do than daydream about the color of his eyes or what it would feel like to hold his hand. He’d actually sounded angry and had taken a step back after berating Patton for three long minutes. “Just…” He had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re being too emotional. Give me an hour, won’t you?”

Patton looked at the cat clock on the wall. It’d been forty five minutes since Logan’s request. Patton’s room certainly wasn’t helping with his mood. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He glanced back and forth, from the door leading to the hallway, to the door leading to Memory Lane. Going into Memory Lane would only make things worse in the long run and Patton knew this, he was fully aware of what a bad decision it would be, but… Short term, a trip to some of Thomas’ happier memories would make him feel better in the now and…

Patton shook his head and stormed out of his room with determination. He flinched at the door slamming behind him but continued on shortly after, just a bit further down the hall. He hesitated in front of the decorated door for just a moment before he knocked. It sounded exactly like Anna’s knock but he resisted singing about building snowmen.

The door creaked open and Patton hurriedly put on a smile (no, Patton, bad, why are you hiding, you should know better). Virgil looked tired and he still had one earbud in. He seemed happy to find Patton at the entry. “Hey, Patton.”

“Hiya, kiddo!” Patton chirped, rocking a bit on his feet. “I was wondering, do you wanna help me make dinner tonight?”

Virgil shuffled a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m actually… in the middle of something.” He glanced surreptitiously behind him and into his room. Patton resisted the urge to lean around and get a look. “It might take me through dinner to finish.”

“Virge,” Patton said, only slightly scolding, “you’ll make sure to eat, though, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Virgil laughed in that breathless huff sort of way, the one that always made Patton’s heart beat extra fast. “I will but it’s… this project is really important to me.” Virgil sounded the way Roman did when he spoke about something he was super duper proud of.

“Okay,” Patton smiled and found it felt less unnatural than before. “As long as you comb down for food at some point, busy bee!” Patton clasped his hands tightly behind his back, waiting for the joke to land, waiting for another quiet chuckle from Virgil, to be blessed with one of those rare smiles.

It never came.

Virgil gave him a little wave with his fingers before turning away and shutting the door.

Patton’s entire frame shrunk, his expression crumbling. Tears pricked hot at the corners of his eyes. Too emotional and you can’t even get Virgil to smile? Wow, Patton, way to go, you’re on a roll today. Before he could start crying in front of Virgil’s room, Patton hurried down the staircase and into the living room. He sniffled and used the sleeves of his cardigan to wipe at his damp cheeks. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered to himself, “no big deal.”

And it might have been fine if Patton had a moment to collect himself. It might have, eventually, not been a big deal, if he’d had just a second to pull himself together. In the very next breath however, Patton was hit with the realization that Thomas hadn’t talked to any of his loved ones today. It came at him like a ton of bricks and Patton collapsed to the floor, gasping. He clutched at his heart, as if he could pull the aching thing from his chest.

Not a single text from Joan or Talyn, not one phone call from Mom or Dad. Thomas hadn’t had a chance to respond to fans on Twitter or Tumblr. Even Kenny, Kenny who responded nine times out of ten, hadn’t answered. It was entirely possible that everybody was busy, or their phones had died, or they hadn’t seen the messages, or they were sleeping, or they hated Thomas, and never wanted to talk to him again—

Patton pulled his cardigan off completely and stifled a sob into the fabric. Not that one, he tried to think through the pain, don’t overreact, Patton, you’re being too emotional. He practiced what Virgil had taught them. He inhaled for four seconds, and held for seven seconds, and exhaled for eight seconds. He did it three times before the panic started to subside and then for another three rounds before he could finally breathe easy. 

“It’s fine,” he said with far more certainty this time, even as his voice came out raspy and choked.

He sat still on the floor for another half hour, feeling too sore from his limbs going so tense from the fear that had gripped him so suddenly. He’d make sure Thomas replied to some fans online before bed. He would send goodnight, I love you texts to all his friends and family. It would be okay. He had to stop making mountains out of molehills.

Eventually, he made it to the kitchen, with blurry, tear filled vision and on wobbly legs. When it took three tries to pour a glass of water, he found himself crying into a dish towel. He couldn’t decide if he ought to make something simple or something complicated. On the one hand, an easy to make dish would guarantee he couldn’t mess anything else up. He’d already made enough mistakes today; it wasn’t like he needed another. Then again, if he went complex, it would keep his mind off of how incompetent he’d been so far.

It took another fifteen minutes but Patton finally had the makings of dinner figured out. He’d started a Spotify playlist on his phone, electing to choose a sad one. Why not try to get all the sad out at once, right? He was careful as he made the spaghetti, trying his best to not cry into the sauce or noodles. He’d use regular salt because he knew how to cook and pasta was easy, he’d done it lots of times before, and so what if he wasn’t particularly hungry? So what if the scent of various herbs were making him a bit nauseous and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until morning?

He had to make dinner for his kiddos. He had to do at least one thing right today.

So focused on his task and making sure nothing else went wrong, Patton was entirely unaware that he was no longer alone.

“Darling?”

Patton startled, dropping the wooden spoon. Red sauce splattered everywhere. That was the final straw, apparently, because Patton lasted all of two seconds before tears were streaming down his cheeks again. Loud, unapologetic sobs spilled from his lips, even as he tried to wrap himself up in his own arms, crouching down to the floor.

“Patton!”

“I’m sorry! I know I ke-keep messing up t-today.” Patton tried desperately to stop the flow of tears, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. 

He heard the click of the stovetop dials being turned off. Good job, Patton, you almost set the house on fire. An arm wound around his upper back and underneath his legs. He wasn’t sure how it was managed, given his awkward position, but quite suddenly, he was being lifted up.

Hiccuping a little, Patton wiped at his eyes and blinked at whoever was carrying him. Roman’s jaw was set but he looked concerned. Patton wondered if today had felt so off because Roman had been away on an adventure. He had told all of them that it would take the better part of the day and that he may or may not make it back in time for dinner. 

Can’t even have dinner ready for Ro after a long day of questing, Patton thought miserably, you’re so useless. You can’t do anything right.

“Come now, dearest, let me see that pretty face of yours.”

Patton stubbornly refused, tilting his chin down. He knew his eyes were red, his cheeks flushed and blotchy. His khakis were stained with tomato sauce and he felt even worse about making a mess on the couch. Roman’s fingers carded through his hair and Patton whimpered. He leaned away from Roman’s touch. He hadn’t done anything to deserve being comforted, no matter how badly he wanted it.

“Patton,” Roman drew his name out and he was so startled to hear the Dad Voice from Roman that he did finally look up. His expression was patient but stern. “You help us all the time. Let me help you.”

It was silent for what felt like a very long time but Roman never once fidgeted or sighed or showed any signs of irritation at having to deal with Patton’s struggle. Why was it so hard to talk about what had happened? Roman was normally so easy to talk to. They were both so open with their feelings, so unabashed about the way things affected them. Roman reached forward and carefully took one of Patton’s hands in his own.

Patton clung to it like a lifeline and took a deep breath. “Nothing’s gone right today, Ro.” He mumbled, keeping his gaze trained on their interlocked fingers. “I was messing everything up being too emotional, and I got upset because a dumb joke didn’t get even get a smile, and then I overreacted because Thomas hasn’t talked to any of his loved ones, and I couldn’t even make dinner in time for you, you must be so hungry, I let you down, I’m sorry—”

Roman was smiling. Patton’s heart leapt into his throat.

“You absolute cinnamon roll,” he used their linked hands to pull Patton closer. “Too good for this world, too pure.” Roman rested his forehead against Patton’s. He closed his eyes but Patton kept his open, confused. “You represent emotions. You might go overboard sometimes but that’s okay. The alternative is bottling them up and that’s worse.” He blinked, meeting Patton’s bewildered look, “right?”

Patton swallowed. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He gave the tiniest of nods.

“Maybe they didn’t hear your joke,” Roman continued. He lifted Patton’s hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “Maybe they did hear the joke and didn’t get it and felt embarrassed about asking you to repeat it. It’s perfectly alright that you got upset. That’s allowed.”

Patton’s eyelids fluttered as he tried to stop from crying again. It didn’t work and his eyes stung as more tears fell. How much longer until he ran out completely?

“These kinds of things happen,” Roman reassured, using his free hand to swipe his thumb underneath Patton’s eyes. “There’s so much that could have happened there. If we think about all of them, we’d never stop.”

Roman moved back just a bit and took Patton’s face in his hands. Patton, with nothing to hold onto, clasped his hands together in his lap. “And finally, last but certainly not least.” Roman held Patton’s gaze with fierce intensity. “You could never ever let me down.”

With that, Roman pulled away. He snapped his fingers and the two of them were in their holiday sweaters and cozy sweatpants. He opened his arms wide for Patton. He hesitated (because did he really deserve to be cuddled, did he deserve to be treated this kindly, after messing up all day, and doing such a bad job of what he was supposed to be) but Roman wiggled his fingers and Patton broke. He gave the royal a watery smile before climbing into his lap and curling up there, tucking his head underneath Roman’s chin.

“I love you,” Roman said and Patton focused on the rumble from his voice as he spoke, on the steady beat of his heart, of his chest rising and falling with each breath. “I’ve had these days. The ones where you don’t feel good enough, or like nothing you do is worth it, or when you’re sure everything’s gone wrong and it’ll never get better.”

Patton’s hand fisted in Roman’s sweater.

“You remember what you told me on one of those days?”

Patton was growing sleepier by the moment and so he shook his head guiltily.

“No, it’s okay,” Roman kissed the top of his head. “We keep moving forward. Straight from a Disney movie itself.” Roman chuckled. “We find the light in the dark. And I don’t know about you, but I think snuggling with a Prince is pretty lit.”

Patton giggled. Roman gave a delighted gasp at the sound.

“You go ahead and take a nap, okay, honey bunches of oats?” Roman gently ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Patton’s head. “I’ll wake you up in a bit.”

True to his word, Roman woke Patton up roughly an hour later. The table was being set by Virgil when Patton came to. He apologized profusely for having missed the joke and for not having checked on him sooner and Patton had shot a halfhearted glare at Roman for telling. Logan, immediately after setting the serving dish of pasta down on the dining table, had offered Patton an apology as well. When they all sat down for dinner, Roman entertained them with the story of his adventure in the Fantasy Realm.

Patton wasn’t fixed completely just yet but with Virgil smiling warmly at him, and Logan giving the table his full attention as opposed to being distracted with a book, and Roman holding his hand so tightly the entire time… Well, he was getting there.