#anyways it snowed again and i was cold so i wrote this while waiting to warm up

[pwurrz]

Quincamo Week Day 1 - (Winter) Domesticity:

“mr. quincy..?”

it had only been a few mere minutes since quincy left the bed, but already a certain serpent was calling for him, his voice thick with sleep.

quincy had left their shared ‘nest’ of blankets and warmth to brew yakumo some of his favourite tea, monopolizing one of the rare moments yakumo was awake and slightly coherent. usually, during his brumation period, the serpent would sleep for days at a time, and the rare occasions he did wake up, he was sluggish and fighting off sleep; barely able to keep his eyes open for long enough to drink water before falling back into a deep sleep.

this was the second winter the two of them had spent together, and quincy had grown to enjoy their little tradition. winter, aside from kleinmas, was a slow and uneventful season, mainly consisting of daily patrols through the mountains to make sure any adventurous souls hadn’t tried to cross the barrier he put in place to keep the elemental spirits at bay. coming home to yakumo was a welcome change in his now stagnant and familiar routine.

however, the weather was getting steadily warmer as of late, signalling the end of winter and thus, the end of yakumo’s brumation. which explained how he had enough energy to make his way, albeit slowly, out of bed and into the kitchen.

quincy turned at the sound of shuffling footsteps to see a very sleepy and very disgruntled serpent standing behind him, yawning widely in a way that showed off his fangs. donning one of the forest guardian’s soft, oversized sweaters, a plush eye mask that had been pushed up into his messy hair, and a pair of fuzzy, slipper-like socks on his feet, yakumo was the pinnacle of comfort.

“the bed started to get cold..” another yawn. “what are you doing?”

quincy gestured towards the boiling pot on the stove, which made yakumo pause and blink a few times, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before peering around the larger man to follow his movement. though, as if he couldn’t help it, he soon wrapped his arms around quincy’s waist, mirroring the habit quincy had of standing behind yakumo and embracing him while watching him cook.

apparently, the serpent was feeling enough like himself that he started to fret over being taken care of. it made quincy smile, even if it was troublesome, to see the younger man acting like his usual self again.

“is that.. my favourite? y-you didn’t have to-” yakumo starts to protest, but he’s cut off by quincy turning around and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. it makes the serpent stop in his tracks, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion while a blush quickly rises on his cheeks. his response is so unbearably endearing, it makes quincy want to kiss him again. and so, he does.

without waiting for yakumo’s brain to catch up to the affectionate gestures, quincy turns around once more and begins pouring a cup of tea for the both of them.

“i wanted some tea. figured i should make some for you as well.” the forest guardian responded, nonchalant in the way he usually was when he did something nice for yakumo. a little white lie goes a long way in situations like this. “come on, let’s get you back to bed. i’ll brush your hair while we wait for the tea to cool.”

the smaller man smiled softly at the mention of quincy brushing his hair. it was no secret he loved having his hair played with, and he would let out small noises resembling purrs when anyone so much as touched his head gently.

“a-alright..” a third yawn. yakumo had definitely used up his small amount of energy by this point. “but just you wait… i’ll return the favour… s-soon..”

quincy chuckled, careening a quickly fading, sleepy serpent back into his side so he wouldn’t accidentally tumble over or trip over his own feet.

“i’m sure you will, little serpent.”

[mochinomnoms]

Ok si for the small snippet requests- ptm jadeyuu, but it's at the point where yuu starts getting a little downbad and just starts playing into jades lil scenarios more and he freaks out cause his day is going SO MUCH BETTER now. Thank you!

🦩

Having a crush when you're a mind reader can have its cons...but also some pros~

Also I wrote this while listening to Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, I very recommend listening while reading for the vibe

You blew hot air against your hands, rubbing them as you watched the snow fall outside the window.

Winter had come early this year and your dorm members had taken to playing in the snow. Everyone was enjoying themselves, even Aspen was smiling, though yelping as he was smacked in the face by a snowball.

You laughed as he chased after Tony, tackling him into the ground as they both cackled with a red flush over their cheeks.

Ramshackle had very little traffic, even with the students in your care, which left it rather pristine and ideal for making snowmen and fights. Plenty of students from the other dorms were hanging around between classes, some even in your kitchen making warm drinks and snacks.

Which is why you weren't surprised when a mug of hot chocolate appeared in your peripheral vision. Looking up, you softly smiled and gave a small 'thank you' as you took the mug from Jade, who took a spot next to you, leaning against the porch railing to watch the small group of students playing in the snow.

He was in the winter version of the school uniform, which just came with a thicker jacket, a scarf, boots, and snow gloves. Though, you're positive that Aspen mentioned that none of them needed it, as they were well acquainted with the cold. It was mostly to keep up appearances, Floyd being the exception as he forwent the gloves and jacket.

My pretty pearl, you look radiant against the snowfall. I feel like I'm falling for you all over again…

Your cheeks warmed, despite the biting cold, and you masked your smile behind your mug as Jade stared at you from the corner of his eyes. When you dared to look at him, his gazed immediately darted back to the others. He had a red flush over his cheeks, which could be due to the cold, but you knew better.

Both of you chuckled as Silas, holding a giant snowball over their head, jumped and slammed the snow on top of Yaqub's head with a shit eating grin.

“They seem to be having fun. I know Floyd is coming over to have a snowball fight with Tony in a bit, will you be joining?”

You shook your head, watching the marshmallows swirl in your mug.

“Nah, I'm probably gonna head in here in a few. My hands are freezing, and I don't have gloves anyways.” You sighed, drinking your hot chocolate and relishing in the warmth flowing to your belly.

Jade tilted his head, watching as you lifted one of your hands to blow on it again.

“Would you like some help warming up?” You weren't surprised at the flash of an image of Jade and you 'warming up' in front of the lounge fireplace under a lush blanket. “I'm happy to assist.”

You know what response he was waiting for. You know that he'd come to expect your flustered and panicked stammering, putting as much space between you two as possible. It's a very 'you' response.

I can do this, I can give the same energy! Yeah! No more playing around with me, Jade! It's my turn!

“Hmm? And just how do you plan to 'warm me up' Jade~” You cooed, batting your eyelashes and smiling up at him.

You're surprised just how…sultry that came out. I didn't think I could sound like…like…something out of Jade's daydreams! Jade seemed surprised as well, snapping his head to stare at you.

His face still had his same polite smile, though you swear his cheeks turned a bit more red.

“…Pardon? Could you repeat that?” Jade asked, though there was a bit of breathlessness to his voice.

Did you…no I must have imagined…

“Well, there's lots of ways to warm someone up,” You shrugged, looking down at your drink and tracing the edge of the mug. “You caaaan…start a fire…get me a blanket…skin to skin contact…”

Haaaah, is this real?

“Human lovers will cuddle with each other, and do more...intimate things together to warm up.” You finally turned to face him, watching him visibly swallow.

Now I'm just being mean.

“Is…that so? That's good to know.” Jade's voice sounded strained, though his face betrayed very little. If it wasn't for the screaming echoing through his mind, you wouldn't be able to tell this was effecting him.

“Mmh, so, Jade~” You slowly crept closer to him, your still free hand doing the same along the rail to inch closer to his fingertips.

“How do you plan to warm me up, Jade?”

You had to crane your head to look up, causing a creak in the back of your neck, as there was barely an inch of space between you two. Frankly, though, it was worth it to see the wide-eyed surprise on his face.

It's real! Bless the Seven! It'srealIt'srealIt'srealIt'srealIt'sreal—

“Well, I—”

“Can watch everyone while I warm up in the kitchen!” You chirped, quickly backing away and smiling. “I'm sure it's plenty warm in there with the others running the oven!”

W-what?

Hmph, that's what he gets. You started walking away towards the front door, a smug smile on your face. Just a taste of what he puts me through every day—

You swallowed a shriek as Jade caged you against the wall with his arms, dropping your mug in surprise. You could hear it clatter against the wood floor and the hot drink fizzle against the cold surface.

Curling in on yourself, you looked up at Jade, who was giving you a smile and narrowed glare, his sharp teeth visible. He had a glint in his eyes and his flush was growing down to his neck.

“Now, now my dear,” he leaned down, speaking softly as he hovered his face closer and closer to yours, until you pressed your hands against his chest, stopping him.

“It's not nice to be a tease, stunts like that would get you eaten up in the sea.” Jade's nose brushed against yours, his smile growing as you grew more flustered.

“Unless, you're trying to be a tease~” Jade's right hand moved to graze your cheek with his finger.

This is going too far, I should…

Your skin felt tingly as he ghosted down to your chin, tracing the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip.

“Talking about lovers, acting coy.”

…I should make him…stop…

He pulled it down, ever so slightly, making you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Cute…

“You shouldn't play around with things like that.”

“I'm…not…” you let out a whimper as his breath mixed with yours, lips hovering over your own. You could hear his breath hitch at the sound.

“No? Then prove it, unless you want me to 'warm you up' in front of everyone?”

Swallowing another whimper and feeling your cheeks and body warm from something other than your drink, you licked your lips. You felt him shudder as your lips just barely brush, moving to press them together—

“Ooooh, how scandalous!”

You shrieked, out loud this time, shoving Jade away as you accidentally smack his face to get some space between you two.

“Ack!” Jade covered his face with his hands, wrinkling his nose from the sudden pain.

You stared in a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment at the small group watching you two at the railing.

Silas was grinning, fulling leaning his body over the railing as he kicked his legs behind him like a child. Yaqub and Tony looked just as amused, the former hiding his giggling behind his hand. Aspen, to no one's surprised, had a sour look on his face, disappointed even, while Wynfred was pouting. Marion had the decently to look embarrassed that he was caught staring, looking down at his feet like they were the most interesting things he'd seen all day. James, sweet James, just looked confused.

“…I didn't know you two were dating?”

“We're not!” You waved your hands in a panic, laughing nervously as you stepped away from Jade, who was now glaring at the group with an annoyed frown.

“Then, why were you two kissing—” James jumped, as did the rest of the group as you screeched.

“HE WAS JUST BLOWING HOT AIR ON MY HANDS, THAT'S IT! NOTHING ELSE!”

You laughed manically as you clapped your hands, inching closer to the door.

“You know I'm still cold! Are you guys cold? Yeah, you are!” You continued nervously laughing as you turned and practically bolted to the front door, the snow on the ledges falling from the sheer force of your slam.

The group and Jade stared at where you disappeared, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop in the snow.

“…So you two were, like, totally making out, right?” Silas asked, letting out an 'oof' as Marion smack that back of their head, making them fall face-first into the wooden patio.

Jade gave his signature smile, bowing his head.

“Perhaps you all should go back to playing, I should check on the poor Prefect, though might I advise not interrupting a pair's private conversation next time?”

Yaqub scoffed, elbowing Tony as he teased, “Conversation, sure. Maybe next time you two should have your next 'conversation' in the bedroom?”

The two snorted, Tony choking into a cough at Aspen's glare.

“Thank you for the kind suggestion, I'll be sure to consider it.” Jade called out as he entered the dorm, determined to continue from where you two left off.

[matchayogitea]

New Year Magic ∼ Steve Harrington x Reader (One Shot)

As someone who often has a hard time during the Holidays, I quickly wrote this today to vent. Happy New Year, everyone.

Summary: You don't like New Year's and you don't really care to celebrate it with people, so you're home alone. Until an unexpected guest arrives and changes your mind about this holiday you dislike so much.

The streets were empty, and rightly so. It was the evening of December 31st, an evening you dreaded, every year.

You had never cared for New Years, but as time went by you felt your distaste for the Holiday growing stronger and stronger. The reason? You felt like the promise of a New Year that would make your life better was an empty one. A failure. At times, you thought something must be wrong with you. How could everyone celebrate and party while you felt so differently? So sad?

Sighing, you turned away from the living room window. Your parents had left an hour earlier, to celebrate with some friends, and they had tried dragging you out with them but you had pretended to be feeling sick so they would leave you alone. They just didn't understand you.

Your friends didn't seem to understand you, either. Except one. Steve Harrington, whom you'd grown close to in the past year as you found yourself battling monsters and weird supernatural phenomena, hadn't tried to convince you to go to a party with him and other people you knew. He had seemed to accept that it just wasn't something that would make you happy.

And you knew it was for the best, because he would definitely be kissing someone as midnight came around - and your heart would be crushed. Because you liked him, a lot. You had tried so hard to keep from falling for him, but you hadn't been able to stop yourself, and now you were paying the price. Just because Steve was single at the moment, you knew it wouldn't last. Not after New Years Eve.

Whatever. He was too good for you anyway. You had to accept it and move on. Even if it hurt like hell.

As you sat on the couch and grabbed a book absent-mindedly, you glanced at the clock. It was only 10 PM. Better start reading and forget about everything else.

Until someone rang the doorbell.

You considered ignoring whoever it was. Probably a friend of your parents', or some other annoying visitor. But they rang again, and again, and you finally discarded the book to go check.

You definitely weren't expecting him.

"Steve?" You gingerly opened the door, a smile making its way on your face as you noticed how handsome he looked in his long, black coat and matching scarf. "Wrong address, party's not here," you joked.

"Hey, Y/N. Are you alone?" he asked, glancing behind you.

"I am… my parents are out. What's up?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure…" You didn't know what was going on, but you let him in. It was freezing outside, not snowing yet but the promise was in the air.

"Thanks. Well, I…" He paused, as if searching for the right words. "I brought some food. Actually, it's just chocolate, but I guess you already had dinner. I brought a bottle of wine, too. No, wait-" You had opened your mouth to speak, but he kept going. "I just can't be at some stupid party while you're home alone. I would rather spend time with someone I care about than a bunch of drunk idiots. I mean… if that's ok with you…"

His cheeks were flushed, you weren't sure if it was because of the cold or something else, but you felt yourself blush, too. "Steve… that is really thoughtful, but you don't have to spend New Years with me like a loser. I know you like parties, and-"

"I'm tired of all that, Y/N. I would rather watch some dumb movie and chill at home with you."

His gaze was so warm, and he looked amazing, and he smelled so nice.

You were a goner.

"Ok, then, if you're really sure… make yourself at home," you replied, grabbing his coat and gesturing for him to follow you into the living room. "I don't know if anything's on TV. I was reading."

After placing wine and chocolate on the coffee table, Steve sat on the couch and grabbed your book. "The Never ending story? Really? We just watched the movie," he grinned, looking up at you.

"Exactly, I want to know the real story. And everything that couldn't fit into the movie," you explained, throwing a pillow at him. He laughed and you felt your chest grow warmer. You didn't know why he had decided to show up, but you were happy. Truly happy.

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

It was almost midnight and there was only a tiny bit of wine left, that you guys had saved to welcome the New Year.

Both of you were currently laughing like hyenas at some comedy that was on TV.

"It's not even that funny, why… are we laughing so much?" you asked, trying to calm down. Steve had drunk a bit more than you, and he was completely gone. "Look at his face!" he replied, pointing to the actor.

You did, and started laughing again.

Till Steve noticed it was five minutes left till midnight.

"Alright! Let's finish this wine and… and say what our hopes are for the New Year," he exclaimed, pouring the little wine left. "You first!"

"Oh, I hate this. Every year's the same, anyway, people making promises they won't keep and wishing for things that won't happen and-"

"Hey, Miss Optimism, I'll have you know that this year is going to be different!" Steve raised his glass to yours. "Just say one thing you wish for. Then I'll go next."

"Fine!" You sighed, feeling cornered. "Hum… I wish for world peace."

"Come onnn! I'm talking about something you wish for yourself!" Steve insisted, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You instantly felt your cheeks grow hot, partly because of the wine and partly because of him.

And then, because of the state you were in, you were dumb enough to say it out loud. "I wish… the guy I like would like me back," you muttered, downing the rest of the wine.

Steve stared at you for what felt like forever, before nodding. "Same. Same for me! I mean… the girl I like, in my case, not a guy…" he drank what was left in his glass, before turning back to you. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he added, eyes dangerously glassy.

"I don't think it's a good idea…" You might be tipsy, but not drunk. And you knew there was no coming back from admitting to him that you liked him. A lot.

Steve was too out of it to listen to you, however. "It's just the two of us, come on! On a count of 3…"

"Steve, no, I don't-"

"2-"

"Stop it, Steve-"

"1-"

"IT'S YOU!" You both shouted simultaneously, and your face fell. What? It must be some joke in poor taste, right? How could Steve like you?

But he was staring at you so lovingly that it couldn't be a joke. He couldn't be that good of an actor, he just couldn't-

"Oh my God, you finally told me you're desperately in love with me!" he exclaimed, raising one fist triumphantly. "Yessss!"

"What… I…" you were stunned. You couldn't process everything that had happened so fast. "I just-"

"Ssssh! Come here!"

Steve dragged you to your feet, so you were standing in front of him, and cupped your face between his warm, large hands.

"It's one minute left till midnight, Y/N. This year, I want to spend it with you. Be with you, all the time, and never let you go."

Still incredulous, you tried to ask if he meant it, but he cut you off.

With a kiss.

The kiss.

As you wrapped your arms around him and got lost in your dream world, you only barely registered the turn of the New Year. Finally, you were happy.

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 13th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Howdy there again! It’s December 13th! Did you know that according to the 12 days of christmas song, today we would be left with 364 gifts! That’s insane! And most of them would be birds! 184 to be exact. Insane literally who needs all of that. Wait. Oh, right, I’m a writing blog. Uh, anyway, it’s the 13th day of Writemas! Here is the invite post if you still wanna join/look at the rules for writemas and here are the prompts I am going to be using today!! It’s all back on topic down there please direct your attention away from here lmao. Disregard my ramblings above. 

Prompts used:

Feeling: The ache of longing 

Setting: A vehicle(carriage)

WOW It sure has been a while since I last wrote for Perci. Like 5-6 days ago, which isn’t actually that long but still! I’ve been neglecting him too much!! Hopefully this one will make up for it.

Read about the WIP here!!

Please enjoy!! 

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

The raw air of the darkest night ran cold. Nothing else could send such a piercing bitter feeling down to Perci’s heart. It was the twilight of the night he left his family behind in the snowy apocalypse of a village. Luckily for him, it was only half a day's ride away to Haukrosen. Others on the trip weren’t didn’t have that luxury. Some had to travel for weeks on end—restless, grueling weeks, toughing it out through frigid cold and snowstorms—to make it to the capital. About a handful of potential soldiers didn’t make it, which when added up, hinders the growth of the army the Queen so desperately needed, for whatever reason. 

Perci laid his hand on the rim of the carriage sides. The metallic cold instantly hit his fingertips and stung as it gradually made its way up his hand. He looked away from his hand and towards the outside beyond them. The landscape was ever changing as the . He stared, thinking. What were they doing at this time of night? Were they asleep? Perci knew that no one could sleep on a night like this. Definitely not his mother. Shaking his head to rid of his thoughts he drew his attention back into the cart. He was glad he was going to the capital, since otherwise, such nice carriages wouldn’t be wasted on a trip. The cart itself was much more sturdy than he had ever seen. If Perci shook the railings right at that moment they wouldn’t fall off, which was something he was happy to get used to. Plus, the seats were nice and plush. Perfect for a long ride. Maybe there were some upsides to this. 

His attention was then drawn to the two others in the car with him. One was a woman who, despite her younger age, looked to have seen it all. She had a nervous expression on her face, and further intensified by the large bags under her tired eyes. The other was a man, a Queensmen that Perci had talked to and befriended—sort of, all he did was learn his name—before they got into the carriage for the ride. He looked to be middle aged, and seemed to hold others and himself in high regard, never letting anyone get away with anything outside of the rules. Something about this man drew Perci in, like he was someone to depend on. He wasn’t like any of the Queensmen that occupied his village, he felt more approachable. So, Perci decided to approach the man through conversation.

“Queensmen Hyde, sir, I have a question.” Perci forced out of his mouth to make conversation with the older man, it was going to be a long ride, after all.

“Fire away, Tarros, there’s no rush.” The Queensmen said, 

Perci kept his mouth open, slightly to even dare to ask anything to a man who had so much power over him, but continued on with his question, “Is it true that the gates keep Haurkrosen so hot?”

“Well, yes. The Gates of Gunnhildr do keep the winter winds out, but it also has properties that act as a shield to all cold. And thus, the temperature stays warm all year long, with no snow in sight between the walls. The grass grows green, the people thrive. Harmonious, right?”

“Is it magic? The same kind we use?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“Is there some kind of source for this? There has to be for an entire city

“Not that I know of. I’m sure many researchers in Haukrosen could make up so many wild theories about it, but if you ask me, Tarros, all we know is that it’s there, it’s some kind of magic and the people are happy.”

“Interesting. Perhaps it is from the core of the stone.” Perci muttered.

“Perhaps indeed.”

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(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

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[givethembrains]

do you do angst?

sam n bucky texting middle v the night cause they’re so far yet so close,, before they confess etc

song insp: lovers by anna of the north

i can try!! i listened to the song a few times over as i wrote - i am not sure i got it down though...🥺 (~2.6k words below, written a bit quickly so hopefully it's ok). texting fic was a new format for me - sorry for the weird formatting!

It was late. Or early. Sam couldn’t tell anymore. The sun never seemed to rise here, at least not when he was awake. The room they’d stuffed him in was blank—walls, floor, sky outside the single reinforced window. All of it same-tone, same-feel, same damn classified nowhere. The bed hadn’t been touched in days, not really. The imprint of his exhausted body laid on top of the sheets, but he never crawled between them. 

Even now, he was still in uniform, boots by the door, socks half-off, phone in his palm like a lifeline he wasn’t sure how to hold. The screen lit. Sam was waiting for it.

What time is it there?, Bucky messaged.

The neat punctuation still got him. It surprised Sam at first, but then again, he hadn’t really thought about how Bucky would text. That he would ever be texting Bucky at all.

Sam stared at the message long enough the light began to hurt. Then, thumbed back. I can't tell you that. Classified. Would reveal too much if the messages were intercepted.

The bubbles came. Stopped. Came again. Are you serious?

Sam didn’t answer right away. He sat back, let his head thud against the wall behind him, and stared at the ceiling until it stopped being flat and started being a reason not to blink.

Another message. Just a dot. Then another. Then: You there?

His thumb tapped. Hovered. You’re on the other side of the line now, Buck. So yeah, it’s classified. Sent before he could stop it. Stupid thing to say. Mean, almost, but he didn’t care. 

Bucky didn’t respond for two minutes and thirty-one seconds. Sam counted. Then—That’s not an answer.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, dry skin catching on his jaw. The radiator worked, but the cold of the day still hadn’t faded. 

He sent, I answered you just fine. Got a short window. Maybe. If the op doesn’t shift. Can’t take chances. 

The reply came fast. Too fast. You just don’t want to tell me.

Sam leaned forward. He hated the part of himself that tried to be neat when Bucky wanted messy.

He typed, deleted. Typed again. Look. I know you’d come if I said I needed you. So if that’s where this is going, drop it. I know.

This time, the pause was long enough Sam watched the screen dim. Then light again. Yeah. So tell me where to go.

Sam laughed, but it caught in his throat before it made it out. That was the thing about Bucky. No flourish. No ask. Just show up. Just be there. But Bucky couldn’t be there now, and that probably pissed him off for no good reason. Sam’s fingers hovered. Then he typed:

You’d make it worse.

Nothing for a while. And then in a flurry—

Yeah.  Sure. Maybe. But I’d still be the one saving your ass at the end of the day. 

Sam stared at the words until they blurred, then stood. Bucky always meant it, always said it like the blood was already in his mouth. His knees cracked as he moved. The room was too quiet. Outside, wind moved something—the snow, maybe. Lately, it was the only sound he heard. He didn’t know it could be so loud.

Sam responded with the truth, They’ll throw you in jail. You sure you wanna spend the rest of your super-soldier life in lockup? 

Depends.  Anyway, it wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me.

Sam paced once across the narrow floor, phone in hand. Turned. Back again. Every muscle wanted to stretch, break, move. But nowhere to go. No real way out.

How’s therapy going? He almost sent it, then erased it. Re-wrote it. Changed it to You heading to bed soon? It’s late. Sent that instead.

Half-asleep. Liar. You?

Sam closed his eyes. He typed something else, hands suddenly unsteady. Stopped. Lied. Nah just woke up from a nap and everything

The reply came almost instantly. Just one word: Sam.

He was in the middle of a sarcastic reply, a good one, too—What? I’m not allowed to take a nap?—when the next message popped up. 

What happened?

Sam scoffed to himself. No one was there to hear the performance though. Nothing?

Don’t lie to me, Sam.

He stood abruptly. The motion jolted the bed frame, made the phone fall and thud against the floor. He left it there. Walked to the sink and let the water run until it turned cold. Splashed his face. Didn’t look up.

The reflection in the mirror would only lie. 

Behind him, the phone buzzed once. Then again. He didn’t check it. Just dried his hands on his shirt and sat back down, head in his hands.

When he finally picked it up, the messages were waiting.

You know how I know you’re lying right now? You stop spelling things so perfect when you’re mad at yourself. You don’t do that when you’re just tired.

Sam leaned back against the wall. Let his head drop. His chest felt tight. Then:

You should stop texting me when I’m deployed, Bucky. 

He stared at the words. Wondered if it’d be enough. Sent them anyway. 

Another pause. Longer.

No. You don’t that. Besides, I already know what happened.

Sam didn’t breathe for a beat. Maybe two. No you don’t 

Yeah, I do. Someone got hurt. You think it’s your fault. 

Sam thumbed out the easiest reply: Wrong

No, I’m not. It’s not your fault, Sam. 

There was heat rising from deep in Sam’s chest, not from his stomach, somewhere deeper, somewhere from behind him, lava oozing from his spine as he typed faster than he could think:

You don’t know that  You don’t know anything Go to sleep And talk to raynor about your sudden clairvoyance Break in the wrong direction buck

The messages sat there, bright in the dark room. Maybe it was enough to get Bucky to leave him alone for once. Wrong. Only for a few minutes. Only long enough for Bucky to know it was safe to come toward him again.

Sam?

Yeah, he replied against his better judgement. I’m here.

Sometimes I think about you just telling me these things.  And me telling you things like this 

Sam let the phone rest on his thigh. Didn’t look at it. Just breathed in stale air and tried not to taste the way Bucky’s words sat at the back of his tongue. You mean conversation? Like what we’re doing now?

The typing bubble came back before he could stop it. What are we doing now, Sam?

Sam stared at it like it was a wire stretched taut across a canyon, and if he stepped wrong, they’d both fall into something they couldn’t undo. Having a conversation. Trying.

Don’t start with the stupid punctuation again, Sam. 

I think you’re getting cranky now, Bucky. Go to sleep.

I want to tell you things that I’ve never told anyone I miss dancing I think about dancing with you What does that mean, Sam

It means you want to dance. Go dance.

Were they like Karli? 

Sam wanted him to just stop.

Who?

Didn’t matter. Bucky kept going.

The person who got hurt.

Sam’s chest felt too small. The air stuck in it, heavy with heat and something else—something softer, sharper.

No one got hurt 

Okay, if that's what you want It doesn't stop me from dreaming about it About you letting me in Like you let Steve in

Sam typed fast.

Don’t do this.

But not fast enough:

I think I need you, Sam I think I need you to let me in Or I’ll go crazy

Still, Sam tried to type faster.

Not again.

But it sent too late. Or Bucky ignored it. Maybe both.

I think about it more than I should. I think about you a lot more than I should, Sam 

He could see Bucky now, somewhere in his own room, staring at his phone, back hunched like he was bracing for impact. Sam pictured the furrow between his brows. The way he held tension in his shoulders. That little breath he took before saying anything hard.

Stop, Sam sent.

Another message popped up.

I’m trying real hard not to say it, Sam I don’t know how much longer I can last Tell me if you’re hurting I get it So just tell me

Sam stood again, paced. His boots were too far away. He needed them on. He needed the door open, the hallway, the cold outside, anything but this.

He typed: Let it go. It’s late. You’re tired. This isn’t the time. Deleted it. Rewrote it. You don’t have to say it. Then again—Don’t say it.

But Bucky never listened.

I think I’m in love with you, Sam.

It was so quiet in the room, the sound of that message was almost physical. Sam sat back down like gravity had gotten stronger. He stared at the words long enough his eyes burned. Didn’t touch them. Didn’t reply. Didn’t even move.

Suddenly, the phone began to vibrate in his hand. Once. Twice. Sam let it ring, jaw locked, eyes not moving from the screen. Third buzz—he rejected it. Thumbed it away without hesitating.

The message came through seconds later.

I should probably say it instead.

Sam didn’t respond. The room stayed the same. Too hot. Too cold. Too quiet. His breathing sounded wrong. Too loud. He stared at the message. Then the one above it.

I think I’m in love with you, Sam.

Just sitting there, weightless and unbearable. Like it wasn’t a thing that could pull a person apart. He fucking hated Bucky. Always just saying things. Just doing whatever he wanted like there weren’t consequences. Like Sam was supposed to sit there and absorb it.

Sam clenched his teeth. No. That wasn’t fair. The anger burned hot, aimless. It circled in his gut, looking for somewhere to land. At Bucky, sure. But also at the wall. At himself. At the way the words stuck under his skin like splinters. 

He wasn’t like Bucky.

Bucky ran on instinct, on impulse, on all those stupid ideas stuck in his head. The ones he didn’t bother asking anyone else’s opinion about.

He wasn’t like Bucky.

Once Sam took that step, there was only one direction he could go. There was no turning back.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Riley. Steve. He outlived the people the people he loved. He was already grief’s favorite chew toy. And now, there was Bucky. The chance to love someone who just won’t die—no matter how many times the world tries to kill them.

Yeah, he’s thought about it before. About Bucky. What it would be like. He's not an idiot. He’s noticed how Bucky looks at him. Sam was just good at ignoring it. Deflecting every time Bucky tried to say what he just said.

Maybe with Bucky, he wins.

Maybe with Bucky, he breaks the pattern. Maybe with Bucky, he’d have more than memories. Maybe with Bucky, things would be different. Maybe with Bucky... 

And then, he wondered.

Maybe with Bucky, he wondered, fate would find some other fucked-up way of messing with him. Until the next unlucky bastard decided to catch feelings for him and Sam was dumb enough to respond.

Riley, blonde.

Steve, blonde. Super soldier.

Bucky, super soldier. Not blonde.

Like some kind of fucked up cosmic daisy chain. By all calculations, the next one-- the one after Bucky--would be brunet and Sam didn’t want to know what other trait of Bucky’s would be tacked on.

But he’s on to fate’s little game now. He didn’t trust it. Because the minute he started—really started—it wouldn’t stop. There was no exit strategy. It was all or nothing. And his all had been taken so many time, he doesn’t know if there’s anything left if he gave it away again.

Because that’s when Bucky would go.

It’s when Riley died. It’s when Steve left. 

The screen lit again. Did you get my last message?

Sam’s fingers hovered. The one after you called? Yeah, it came through just now. Can’t talk, I have poor reception here. Too remote.

Quick. Too quick.

Another pause. Short. Then—

You just gave away classified information.

That’s fine. They can’t do much with that. Hundreds of remote places with poor reception. Delacroix, for example. 

The bubbles came back.

Okay. I said I think I’m in love with you. Did you get that one?

Sam stared down at the reply like it was a challenge. He was not doing this. Not here. Not now. He typed:

What are you trying to do right now? 

I don’t need an answer. I just want you to know.

Sam wiped a hand down his face. His phone was slick in his palm now. Why, he sent. Just that. No dramatic follow-up. Just that single word that held too much.

I decided I’m too old to do this any other way.

Then, separately:

I love you.

And again:

I love you, Sam

Sam nearly threw the phone.

Stop sending it. I saw it.

People usually respond to that sort of thing

What do you want me to say?

I don’t know. Do you love me, too?

Sam stared at the last message. Then typed:

Bucky, stop.

He wasn’t even mad anymore. Not really. The sharp edge of it had dulled into something heavier, something resigned. He sighed. Rubbed the back of his neck like he could knead the tension out of his thoughts. Like that’d fix anything. Then he typed—

You always do this.

Didn’t wait for Bucky to respond. He just kept going.

You get in your head, you decide something, and then you throw it at me like it’s a grenade and wait to see if I flinch.

Another pause.

Then when I don’t say anything right away, you act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. Like you didn’t plan the whole damn thing.

The words rolled out, fast now. He wasn’t trying to be gentle anymore. Just honest. Or close enough.

And you think that just because you say it quiet, say it soft, say it in a text instead of looking me in the eye that I won’t hear it like it’s the only thing in the damn room.

He paused again, thumb hovering. Considered stopping. Didn’t.

You think I didn’t know? You thought you were slick? You think I haven’t been clocking every time you stayed up late just to check if I was alive, every time you sent something too much and deleted it before I could answer? You think I didn’t hear it the second you started calling more?

Bucky didn’t reply. The bubble appeared, then vanished. Sam shook his head and kept going.

You dont get to sneak it in like it’s nothing You don’t get to dro p that on me while I’m out here with half a plan and two hours of sleep

He swallowed, hard. His fingers slowed.

You do this You always do Just decide I can handle something Shove it in my lap like I asked for it

No response. Just a long, long pause. Then, finally:

I love you, too, Sam.

The silence that followed felt loud. Sam watched it sit there, the echo of his own words waiting to bounce back. Then—

Good night, Buck.

[the-sun-and-the-sea]

Odesta Week Day 2: Take Me Out Tuesday

Finnick’s spent plenty of time in District Thirteen dissociating, but at least this time it’s for a good reason. 

He has Annie in his arms again, and they’ve backed themselves against a wall and have started to slump down. He doesn’t care that they’re on the floor, just like she doesn’t care that his fingers are tangled in her long hair. They’ll deal with that stuff later. 

It’s not until after they’ve done their fair share of crying and kissing that Finnick asks, “So, what do you want to do?”

Annie’s eyes are gleaming and her smile is practically blinding, but he thinks she’s never looked better. “I want to take you out, obviously.”

“I know you just got here,” he says, and presses another quick kiss to her mouth, “but there’s not really a lot of date night options—”

That’s as far as he gets before the blade of her knife tears through his gut. 

The first thing Finnick thinks is that the blood is coming out faster than it should. He’s seen a lot of blood. He’s watched a lot of tributes bleed out on the grass or sand or snow or gravel. But his mind is cloaked in a fuzziness that he can’t shake, and for some reason, he can’t seem to focus on his own blood as it seeps into his clothes. 

Finnick’s eyes eventually focus on Annie. He wants to reach for her hand and tell her that he’ll be fine, and there’s no way she’s getting rid of him that easily. Not after they just got each other back. But Annie’s not even looking at him. Her eyes are cold and impassive, but what strikes him most is the clarity. She knows what happened, and she’s standing here like it’s just another Tuesday for her. 

Then his eyes travel down her body, where her hand is still gripping a bloodied knife. 

This is when Finnick realizes that something is very, very wrong. 

He probably should have seen it sooner, but between the blood loss and betrayal, it’s hard to accept. That can’t be Annie. 

Someone comes over to take Annie away, and Finnick slips into darkness. 

***

He tries to keep track of the voices he hears around him, but it quickly becomes impossible. They must have Finnick on morphling because his world is hazy and soft. 

“Open your eyes.”

He’s not so sure he wants to. Who’s going to be waiting to stab him this time?

“Finnick, come on.”

That’s a voice he recognizes. Finnick’s eyes peel open involuntarily. Even now, he’s not good at sitting still. “Johanna?”

“Yeah,” she says. She’s sitting on a chair by his hospital bed, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. “They let me out of the hospital just to talk to you. Lucky me.”

“Talk to me about what?” he asks, blinking against the fluorescent lighting. 

Johanna doesn’t mince her words. “When we were in the Capitol, they messed with Annie’s mind. Turned her against you. They did it with Peeta too.”

“I don’t understand,” says Finnick. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to understand. 

“It’s called hijacking. Something with tracker jacker venom, I don’t know. And before you lose your mind over this, she’s already showing signs of progress. More than Peeta, anyway. Probably because she’s older.”

His head is spinning. There’s way too much going on right now and not enough morphling in the world to deal with it. In all of his nightmarish scenarios his mind ran through while Annie was in the Capitol, Finnick hadn’t ever considered this. Turning Annie against him feels impossible somehow, even though he’s sitting in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped tight against his abdomen where she stabbed him. 

“What do we do?” he asks after a second, voice hoarse. “How do we help her get better?”

“Do I look like a doctor?” Johanna asks, and Finnick gives a shrug. “Look, some of the doctors suggested writing a note. It might trigger positive memories of you without you actually being in stabbing vicinity.”

It’s a good enough idea for him, so Finnick spends the next half hour trying to procure a pen and some paper. Figuring out what to write takes a lot less time. It’s an old poem he wrote for her when she turned twenty, and they invited all of Victor’s Village to a party on her boat. Thinking of that day still makes him smile. Kai, the second oldest resident of the Village, had gotten Annie a year long supply of cat food. It’s a very practical gift for someone who has a cat, which Annie doesn’t. 

He sends the poem along with Johanna and waits and waits for some kind of response. His note is delivered back to him not even a full day later, and Finnick is fully ready to let his mind slip away when he notices shaky handwriting on the back. 

Still a better gift than the cat food.

[skyward-floored]

“Hero, what ails you?” - Chapter 1

I wrote this fic after finishing twilight princess over a year ago, since I was full-on captivated by the Hero’s Shade and his whole deal. I’m so attached to the Hero of Time, and that hasn’t changed a bit over the years, and I love making him a dad hehe

Anyways this has been posted on ao3 but due to some recent events I don’t feel like explaining again, I’m crossposting it here. Please enjoy tp Link getting sick and the Hero’s Shade being a Dad while attempting to deny it the entire time <3

First (you’re here) | Chapter Two

————————————————————

The Hero’s Shade sat and waited patiently in wolf form for his young successor to arrive.

As he waited, a few flakes of shimmering snow wafted past his muzzle and he breathed out with a huff, watching them drift past. The snow wasn’t cold, nor was it really snow, but it was the closest thing the Shade could compare it to.

It was calming to watch, and kept him occupied while he waited.

He’d already initiated contact with the boy. He merely had to wake up and accept, but he seemed to be taking his time today. It had already been several minutes longer then it usually took him to arrive and he was starting to grow concerned.

But a few moments later, the boy appeared on the ground, lying prone as always. It always took him a moment to get accustomed to this realm, which was understandable. This was not a land for living flesh.

The boy took several moments longer then he typically did to stand, but once he did he met his gaze as usual, giving the wolf a determined look.

The Shade nodded then howled, changing seamlessly from a wolf into his more human form.

“We meet again,” he rumbled, not bothering to obscure the fond note he knew was there. The boy gave him a small smile and returned the greeting, though his face wasn’t as eager as it usually was when he arrived here to learn a new skill. The Shade frowned to himself, but perhaps the boy was merely feeling the stress of his journey more harshly now that the castle was blocked off.

“Before I teach you my next hidden skill, prove to me you still recall the technique of the last lesson,” he continued. “Show me the Helm Splitter!”

He drew his sword and allowed the boy to do the same, then advanced on him. The boy watched him carefully, studying his movement, then leveled his shield and thrust it forwards once the Shade was close enough. Then he bent his knees and jumped, trying to land a hit on his head.

Except he fumbled the blade and nearly tripped over his own two feet when he attempted the move.

The Shade stopped, disappointment flowing through him. He was certain the boy had mastered this skill, yet here he was acting as if he hadn’t even learned it in the first place.

“What ails you? Do you require a reminder of the technique?” he asked.

The boy stumbled a bit as he regained his balance, then jerked his head in an apologetic bow. “N-no, I remember how to do it, I apologize. I’ll try again.”

The Shade paused, hearing something in his voice. Was that a faint rasp?

He took a small step forward and studied his protégé’s face. Now that he was closer he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it. The boy was concerningly pale, though his cheeks were bright and rosy compared to the pallor of the rest of his skin. He seemed to be fighting to remain upright if the trembling of his limbs were any indication, and a thin sheen of sweat shone on his face despite the fact they’d barely even begun the session.

He obviously was not in fighting condition.

The boy raised his sword and started for the Shade again, but he held out a gloved hand to stop him.

“Hero... you are not well,” he said in a softer voice then he usually used on him.

The boy blinked a few times then shook his head, gripping his sword more tightly.

“No, I’m f-fine. It’s just a bit of a cold.”

The Shade narrowed his eye. “A “bit of a cold” would not leave you shaking like a newborn foal, young one.”

The hero gritted his teeth and managed to get the shaking in his legs under control. “I said I’m fine. Allow me to show you I’ve mastered the previous skill.”

The Shade sighed. The boy obviously would not be swayed, to his own detriment.

“Very well. Come at me.”

He raised his sword and slowly advanced on the boy again, and Link darted forward, shield raised and sword ready.

The Shade eyed him carefully, even more so than usual, watching how it seemed to take him more effort to raise his shield and the way he moved much more slowly. The boy, seemingly oblivious of his enhanced watchfulness, ran forwards and repeated the action of bashing his shield against the Shade, then tried to leap into the air.

This time instead of jumping up he lurched to the side, clutching his forehead and looking dizzy.

He started to fall over backwards, and would’ve hit the ground if the Shade hadn’t jumped forward and caught him. He lowered him gently to the floor and gave the boy a stern look, and Link seemed to shrink in his hold, eyes downcast.

“How long has your condition been like this?” he questioned, cutting to the chase.

Link didn’t meet his eye. “Only a day or so,” he whispered, rasp more noticeable now.

“Where were you last?”

“Snowpeak... the temperatures there were a lot, but I-I had to keep going... I need to keep going. If Zant isn’t stopped—”

“You are in no condition to do anything at the moment,” Shade said sternly. “If you faced the usurper as you are now, he would kill you without a second thought, no less any other enemies. You need to rest.”

He removed his glove and brushed a ghostly hand over Link’s forehead as he spoke. It was hot, much hotter than it should be, and the boy sneezed as he checked, trembling in his hold.

“Did you wear proper equipment at Snowpeak?” he questioned, already knowing the answer.

Link swallowed. “Spent most of the time as a wolf... b-but I didn’t have any thicker clothes as a human. I just... made d-do.”

The Shade sighed. This irresponsibility was what got people killed.

“It was foolish of you to believe your wolf form would fully protect you,” he said sternly, “but that is water under the bridge. You need to focus now on healing. Not more fighting.”

Link made to speak but broke into a coughing fit instead, great wheezing things that wracked his chest and made him curl in on himself.

The Shade watched him, feeling a thread of worry lace itself through him as he listened to his successor cough. It had been a long time since he himself had a body that could get sick, but he knew a sound like that was not healthy.

His successor was strong, so strong despite everything the goddesses kept throwing at him, and seeing him laid low by something so normally inconsequential as a sickness scared the Shade more then he’d care to admit.

“I’m going to send you out of my realm,” he said, coming to a decision. “This place is likely aggravating your condition.”

Link’s face fell. “But you didn’t teach me—”

“That can wait until you are healed,” he cut off, and Link lowered his head. “I will wait for you. Focus on healing.”

Then he closed his eye and pushed at the edges of his realm, magic lightly fizzing through him. The Shade huffed, and in an instant brought his successor back to the waking world, and in turn, changed back into a golden wolf.

He let the magic wash through him, then opened his eye, looking around for the boy. He spotted him a moment later, a few feet away. Link lay on the ground as usual, but he didn’t stir, not even when the Shade padded over and nuzzled him.

A bolt of fear shot through him. Was removing him from his realm really the correct choice of action? What if he had worsened his condition merely by pulling him between dimensions?

“Hero, wake up,” he said, a thin thread of panic in his voice.

Link finally let out a wheezy cough and blinked his eyes open, looking miserable as he stared at him. The Shade couldn’t help his sigh of relief. He was alright, for now at least.

“You need somewhere safe to rest,” he rumbled. “Where would be suitable?”

Link shivered again, and the Shade cursed the fact that he couldn’t hold him in this form.

“K-Kakariko...” the boy rasped, another painful-sounding cough escaping him. “East... there’s a man there...”

The Shade nodded, taking a steady breath.

He hadn’t planned on helping the boy further then getting him out of his realm, but it seemed he wouldn’t be going anywhere by himself. It looked like he was going to have to get him to Kakariko somehow.

How was he supposed to do that?

A shadow split from his successor’s own, and a small imp creature with fiery orange hair appeared. She didn’t seem to notice him, and opened her mouth to speak to Link, but cut herself off when she saw him lying on the ground.

“Oh you stupid wolf I told you to wait—!” the imp rushed to his side, prodding him with a sharp sort of worry, only pulling back when he gave her a weak smile.

“‘S fine Midna, I’m okay,” he murmured, but contradicted his statement moments later by breaking into another coughing fit.

Midna crossed her arms and poked him again, and the Shade could see the thinly disguised worry on her face. She obviously cared for him despite her demeanor.

“You are not okay, and you weren’t okay yesterday either when you insisted on galavanting off and learning a new skill while you could barely walk!” she yelled, and Link didn’t reply, merely sighing tiredly.

“Sorry...” he croaked, and the anger immediately deflated out of Midna, the imp hovering worriedly by his shoulder.

The Shade decided to intervene then, padding forward and breathing out heavily to make his presence known. Who he knew to be the twilit princess startled and whipped around, staring at him with a wide look in her visible eye.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed, carefully moving herself to stand between him and the boy. Then realization landed on her face. “...oh it’s you. Skeleton-wolf-teacher-guy right?”

The Shade huffed and would have rolled his eyes if he could. “Not exactly, but close enough. The hero is in need of healing.”

Midna snorted, though it was layered with worry. “I hadn’t noticed,” she snipped, placing a hand on Link’s cheek. He leaned into the touch and let out a small sigh, and her frown deepened. “Can you heal him?”

The Shade shook his head. “Healing magic is far out of my ability. And sickness is difficult, much trickier then a physical wound.”

The imp sighed. “Well then thanks for nothing, nice to see you, we really should be going now.”

She raised the cursed shard the Master Sword had purged from his successor, and began to direct the magic towards Link, shadows coalescing around him. But the Shade barked and pushed it back into where it came from, and Midna teetered in the air.

“What’s the big idea?!” she snapped, turning on him. “Link needs to get a move on and here you are stopping me from tele—”

“Do not teleport him,” the Shade interrupted, “or turn him to a beast. Moving him between my realm and this already caused his condition to worsen; I do not believe his body would be able to handle that much while he’s this ill.”

Midna lowered the shard, and real worry cracked through the uncaring face she’d put on.

“Then how will we move him?” she asked, floating around in a pacing motion. “There’s a man in Kakariko who could help him, but I can’t carry him there right now and his stupid horse is all the way across Hyrule, and if teleporting is bad then dragging him around on your back wouldn’t be good for him either, and they won’t let a stalfos wolf guy in anywhere!” she snapped, and the Shade patiently waited for her to finish.

“Calm yourself,” he said, despite probably being more worried then she was. “I have a solution.”

This would take a fair bit of magic, but in order for him to not terrify the locals and for Link to be comfortable, the Shade needed arms, and not skeletal or ghostly ones. It had been a while since he’d done this, as it was difficult to maintain these days, but this was a bit of a special circumstance.

Taking a deep breath, the Shade pulled on his magic, going seamlessly from a wolf to a skeleton. But once he’d finished he kept pushing, forcing his form to change further. Bones were covered by less-ghostly flesh, and he could feel bangs brush over his forehead, the sensation one he’d realized he’d missed. He suddenly felt heavier somehow, despite still being a spirit.

When he opened his eye the twilit princess was staring at him in astonishment, and he gave her a small smirk.

“Do I look alive enough?” he questioned, going to his knees and putting a hand on Link’s forehead. He seemed hotter, and the Shade wasn’t even sure he was awake anymore, though he did make a small noise as his hand landed on his skin.

Midna blinked then nodded, albeit hesitantly.

“You... yeah you do, you look alive. And like... you look like Link,” she said, continuing to stare. “Who are you?”

The Shade gathered his descendant into his arms, ignoring the question for the moment as he stood. Link’s head lolled against his shoulder, and he could hear his breath rasping more thickly in his chest. It sounded even worse then it had before, and an icy hand of fear clutched around his heart.

“Someone who cares for his wellbeing,” he answered simply, and began to walk, keeping a tight grip on his descendant.

Midna snapped out of her reverie and quickly moved in front of him, an arm held out. “You’re going the wrong way, moron.”

The Shade blinked, confused. He’d visited Kakariko many times and thought for sure he knew where to go.

Then again... it had been several hundred years.

“...perhaps you should lead.” he admitted, and Midna sniffed.

“Perhaps I should.”

And they set off without another word.

[dracrownian]

Alright, I've decided to give you part 1 of the BO!Rei AU. (And, looking at what I've written for it, it'll only be 2 parts.)

Necessary background info: Rei was born into the BO to two parents who didn't have codenames and died when he was very young. From that point, he was essentially raised by various older operatives, including, briefly, Elena and Atsushi. Now he's basically an older brother to Akemi and Shiho. Hiro's still undercover as Scotch; his cover was never blown. I think that's probably all that's needed to understand these two parts.

This one's uhhh. One of the first things I wrote for detco, and some of it's kinda rough. BO!Rei is concept I do want to play around with again, but I'd change a lot about his story if I did it again. Anyway. Enjoy!

BO!Rei Part 1. [ Part 2 ]

“Akai, wait!” Scotch called out to him, pleading. “We’re on the same side!”

It could’ve been a ploy, but the part of Shuuichi that always thought of Scotch as a friend hoped it wasn’t. So, he stopped. But he didn’t turn around, not yet.

“Akai,” Scotch continued, voice low. “I’m an officer with the Japanese Public Safety Bureau. My name is Morofushi Hiromitsu. I would like to be allies.”

Morofushi Hiromitsu. A name – that was something he could work with. “And how do I know you’re telling the truth?” he asked, hedging.

“If I wasn’t, I could’ve already shot you dead,” Scotch answered. He wasn’t wrong.

Before Shuuichi could react to that, though, his worst nightmare came true: Bourbon’s voice interrupted them.

“Both of you are spies? Really?”

Shuuichi turned to him, and, from the corner of his vision, he saw Scotch do the same, but neither of them spoke up immediately, unsure how to proceed.

“And now neither of you has anything to say. Great,” Bourbon snapped, so many emotions flickering on his face and in his voice that Shuuichi had trouble parsing all of them. The anger was obvious, but on top of that – hurt. Betrayal. Fear?

“Bourbon-” Scotch started gently, reaching for him, but Bourbon stepped back.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like you actually care about me!” Bourbon hissed, akin to a trapped, fearful cat. “I thought-” He stopped, expression crumbling. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, because you were just using me all this time. Both of you.”

There was nothing Shuuichi wanted more in his life than, in that moment, to pull Bourbon into his arms and reassure him that what they had was real, that what he felt was real, and worth holding onto. The full force of Bourbon’s glare, though, stopped him in his tracks.

A tense silence passed between the three of them before Bourbon sighed, deflating. “Just go, before I change my mind,” he said, his voice having lost all inflection.

Neither Shuuichi nor Scotch moved, prompting Bourbon to address Shuuichi specifically. “If they see you, they’ll kill you. Go.” Then, he turned to Scotch. “I won’t tell them about you, but I don’t want to work with you any more than I have to.”

It seemed Scotch didn’t want to test whether that was a threat, because he just replied, “I understand,” and that was that.

Bourbon was the first to leave.

---

Shuuichi hasn’t seen him in two years – not since that night. He knows bits and pieces from Morofushi, but not enough to get a decent picture of how Bourbon’s doing.

He’s back in Japan now, has been for a little while, after nearly two full years in the US, and it feels oddly like he’s home, even though, aside from his stint as Rye, he hasn’t lived in Japan in many years. The time passed and the distance between them (both physical and metaphorical) has done nothing to quell his longing to see Bourbon again, to hold him the way he used to on the cold nights, wrapped up in the sheets and each other.

The snow has begun falling in earnest by the time he’s finished with his phone call, but he barely has time to dwell on it, because he turns to find himself face to face with that girl he met in New York a year ago, and the little boy from the bus-jacking case.

“You’re crying again,” he observes, mumbling around his cigarette.

The girl glares at him, not unlike his memory of Bourbon’s glare – and he really has to stop thinking about him. “Do you have a problem with that?” she demands, clearly ready to defend herself. And that’s just what he needs, to have accidentally picked a fight with a hot-headed teenager.

“I apologize for my friend here,” a painfully familiar voice interrupts, sending a shock down Shuuichi’s spine. “He has no manners, and human emotions appear to be entirely foreign to him.”

Bourbon – new alias Amuro Tooru, according to what Morofushi had told him – real name Furuya Rei, if what he learned back in his undercover days is to be believed. He would know that voice anywhere, has heard it in his dreams on loop for the past two years.

“Amuro-kun,” he breathes, disbelieving, almost mindlessly removing the cigarette from his mouth. If Rei is surprised to hear Shuuichi use his alias, he doesn’t show it.

He looks good, like he hasn’t aged a day, in his long, navy blue coat, cream turtleneck sweater, and soft, grey beanie. He’s smiling, but Shuuichi knows him well enough to know that it’s fake – it doesn’t reach his eyes, and the corners of his mouth are tight. Still, he pulls it off well enough that the people he’s trying to fool won’t notice.

“Akai,” he replies quietly. “We should talk.”

Surprise must show on Shuuichi’s face, because Rei averts his gaze. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Rei turns back to the kids, amiable smile back in place as if it had never slipped. “You two will be alright getting home on your own?” he asks. The girl nods. “Okay. Have a good night, then!”

He turns back to Shuuichi and inclines his head as if to say ‘follow me,’ and, honestly, Shuuichi would follow this man to the ends of the earth right now, if Rei asked.

They end up in a hotel room that appears to be in use as some sort of base of operations, someone’s suitcase tucked next to a desk. Once inside, Shuuichi finds himself just watching, almost entranced, as Rei removes his beanie and coat, and sets them aside. Whatever’s happening feels so fragile that he’s afraid anything he says will break it, so he’ll wait for Rei to talk first. He feels lucky just to have this chance to be in Rei’s presence once more.

Before he can even think about moving further into the room, Rei stops him, holding his hand up in a ‘wait�� signal, then moves a finger to his lips to stay quiet. Puling a bug sweeper out of his coat pocket, Shuuichi watches as he makes a quick but thorough sweep of the room, before his shoulders drop, relaxing.

“We should be clear now,” he says, turning back to Shuuichi, whose passing thoughts are of what a fantastic spy Rei would’ve made, in a different life.

The hotel room isn’t large, and the only seating options are a desk chair or the bed – and Rei pointedly takes the chair so as to leave no room for Shuuichi to misconstrue his motivations.

“I may have overreacted,” Rei begins carefully when Shuuichi finally takes a seat on the end of the bed. “Two years ago, I mean. To be clear, you being a traitor wasn’t the issue.”

He pauses there, swallows around a lump forming in his throat, one hand clenching into a fist. “The problem is that, against my better judgment, I trusted you. I told you so much about myself that I’ve never shared with anyone. I let you in when I never should have, because even if you weren’t FBI, you were Rye. You were a sniper in the same organization I wanted so desperately to leave. So, I shouldn’t have trusted you, but I did.

“And I shouldn’t have fallen for you, but I did that, too. To find out that you had been keeping your true identity secret even from me – it shouldn’t have even been a surprise, but it was. It felt like a betrayal. Part of me believed that, if you weren’t just using me for information, you would’ve told me the truth.

“I do realize now the insanity of that logic, because telling me your real name could’ve been a death sentence. You had no real way of knowing how I’d react if I found out you were FBI – and we both know I would’ve found out.” He sighs, shoulders sagging, fist loosening. “Frankly, I’ve been angry at you for two years, and just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for your colleagues to try to bring me in. And I’m tired.

“So, just tell me. What’s next? What are you planning?”

“With regards to you? Nothing. I’m planning nothing,” Shuuichi answers softly, attempting to reach for Rei’s hand, but it’s pulled out of reach as Rei turns away from him.

“You expect me to just believe that?” he asks, voice wavering.

That question, in that tone – tired and hurting – prompts Shuuichi to move from where he’s sitting on the bed to kneel on the floor in front of Rei. “Rei-kun, look at me,” he requests, keeping his voice as level as possible to not spook the other man. “You’ve always known when I’m lying. You know my tells.”

Rei scoffs. “Clearly not well enough.”

“That’s not true,” Shuuichi disagrees. “You always knew I was hiding something, even if you didn’t know what it was. And any time I lied directly to you, you called me out on it. You do know me well enough. Please look at me.”

When Rei turns back to him, his eyes are narrowed, expression wary. “And? You have no plans for Bourbon?”

“The FBI won’t be coming after you,” Shuuichi promises. “I can say that with certainty because they don’t even know Bourbon exists.”

“What?”

“I didn’t mention you – or Scotch – once. Any reports I had to give, I omitted anything to do with either of you.”

Rei stares at him incredulously, and yeah, okay. Maybe he deserves that. “What-? But that’s �� you’re insane,” he sputters. “You do remember you have a job to do, right?”

Shuuichi raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you mad that I didn’t tell them about you?”

“No. I’m just confused. Why?!”

“Well,” Shuuichi starts, standing up to move back to the bed now that he has Rei’s attention. “Scotch is a friend and ally; there was no reason to put unnecessary scrutiny on him. As for why I didn’t mention you, I worry you might punch me if I answer honestly.”

“It’s possible,” Rei admits. “Try me.”

It’s a chance Shuuichi wasn’t sure he’d ever get, given how terribly their last meeting went. He’s going to make the most of it. “My feelings for you were always genuine. I… care for you, Rei-kun.

“I was supposed to use Akemi to get into the Organization, but that was complicated by finding out she’s my cousin – and then a lot less complicated, because I told my supervisor I did exactly what I was supposed to do. Akemi knowingly helped me join, though I never told her I’m with the FBI. I just told her I would get her and Shiho out, and destroy the Organization from the inside.

“You were… something I never expected. There I was, lying injured in a hospital bed, and there’s this pretty man I’ve never seen before yelling at me and calling me an idiot. Thought I was dreaming or something.”

Rei snorts at that. “In my defense, jumping in front of Akemi’s car was idiotic. You could’ve died. I thought it was some kind insurance fraud scheme.”

“I’m way too stubborn to die,” Shuuichi replies, waving him off. “And then, since I was working so closely with Akemi, I ended up spending all that time with you, and I fell so fast. In the interest of total honesty, I did have a girlfriend at the beginning of that. She knew of my cover story with Akemi, but nothing else. I may have misled her into believing I’d fallen in love with Akemi when I broke up with her, so she’ll be pissed if she finds out the the truth.”

“And what is the truth, Akai?”

“The truth is that I fell in love with you first time we worked together.”

[sasster]

New Beginnings

GUYS! It’s Roe’s birthday!!! And that means .. I wrote a lil something! This takes place shortly after Flashback settled into Illioneus! [doc] —

Cold that sliced through to the bone. That’s how Styx would describe the snowy tundra presently occupy. A bitter colder, carrying with it the threat to sever the delicate balances that connect the remaining muscle and nerve endings of his body to the cybernetics that he relies on. And a quick flex of the fingers on his dominant hand, that ends up being anything but, tells him that this harsh cold intended on making good on the threat.

Even through the mountain’s worth of layers put on in preparation, bulking him out even more than usual, he will certainly be paying for this in the evening. Up ahead, and significantly more comfortable than him, the frigid territory’s single native troll moves about with grace unheard of from someone burdened by so many layers of clothing as she trounces through and upon the densely packed snow with little care. The crisp crunch beneath her footfall must be music to her ears. Home sweet home after the way.

When she notices her cyborg companion lagging behind, she pauses and turns a serene smile on him.

He waves back at her, another sluggish response from the systems within his arm that would need to be reckoned with later, in effort to communicate that he is fine, as he closes the distance.

“We are close.” Veylin says, her smile and tone bordering on the apologetic.

Though Styx has not known the cerulean long, he does know by now there isn’t a need to dispel the sorry. On top of that, not only was it too cold to feel anything beyond his own face, no sane person could hold the trip against her. A momentary inconvenience to collect her belongings and properly say good-bye to her home.

It is the least she could ask for after that entire Mahkir ordeal.

The empath nods before turning her gaze up toward the star litter sky, hanging over them like a blanket.

“It is beautiful.” He offers without looking himself, the idea of his neck freezing in that position haunting his peripherals just beyond the pure night sky. Wouldn’t that be a funny thing to explain back home?

“I have missed it.” She breathes into the air, wistful. And, with the distance between them sufficiently closed, she starts walking again without another word on it.

Her resilience is admirable; trading the world that she grew up in for the safety, and much more temperate climate of Illioneus. It couldn’t possibly be as easy as her serenity makes it all seem.

Yet there she goes.

Veylin leads him into her old hive that appears just on the other side of a hill. She doesn’t bother waiting for her mechanical escort either, choosing instead to just walk right in.

He follows a couple paces behind. It is hard to imagine himself in the small space she once called home, harder still to imagine that beast of a man tearing through it. Upon entering, she continues to walk quickly through the quaintly decorated front room. Without pause. He imagines that this is where it all shook out.

Styx stops to browse a shelving unit filled with board games while she disappears into a room at the far end of the one they entered, probably a private affair. Instead of prying, and to keep his mind off of the chill that even now nipped at the corners of his machinery, he scans over the selection of titles she’d collected over the sweeps.

Safety is not the only thing she is trading the arctic for.

None of these games are any that come with the single player in mind, and he gets the idea that if they did, she wouldn’t have bothered playing them anyway.

Isolation does not suit Veylin Kenshe.

“Styx,” the softness of her voice stabs through the cold silence of the room. He turns to the sound. “I want to do what you do.”

In her arms Veylin had what Styx imagines is a collection of diaries, and she fixed him with a stern look that did not carry into her voice. He did not need to be an empath to feel the conviction in her words.

“There is a lot that I do,” his gaze lingers on the collection that she bundles close to her chest, gloved hands know doubt white knuckling them as though they were a lifeline. Horrors untold must be contained in those pages. “Where would you start?”

“I want to help people.” She declares, Styxs looks up again just in time to find the intensity that colors her features. He understands that she well and truly means business.

That’s good. He begins to slot places for her in his mind. Helping others out of situations like the one she’d only just found herself out of is admirable enough, but would it be wise to send her out with such little time in between to heal?

He was no better, climbing up to the front lines the second he’d been proven to be able to walk and make a fist after trauma. It would be unfair, maybe, to expect the same of someone so young.

Would this in itself be healing for her? Something to mull over, no doubt.

“I know what it’s like to feel helpless and alone.” In the time he’d taken to consider her declaration, she’d crossed the frost covered living room to stand directly in front of him, books abandoned somewhere along the way. “I will do my part to extract those feelings from my charges where I can. To deliver them from places where those feelings are necessary.” 

She has already given herself the job, it seems, with or without him. He can’t help but smile. “Hell of an elevator pitch.”

“I am going to help people.” She enunciates each word sharply, stabbing them through the air like an ice pick through the impenetrable cold.

 To that he simply says, “Of course you are. We would be lucky to have you.”

Something inside her softens, as though the entire time she’d used the icy exterior as a shield to protect her from the shrapnel of her resilience bouncing off of the cyborg’s shell and exploding into the ether. He was never so cruel.

Then just like that, she resumes shuffling around the hive to gather her things, moving with a new airiness that suggests a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

eternal winter au you say

img from here btw

YESSS i fucking LOVE that au

okay so

lemme just set the scene. fantasy au basically.

it has been winter for as long as anyone remembers. the sun hasn't been seen in centuries, only covered by clouds. sometimes the edges of it will peek out, but never for long. the nights are bitterly cold, and if you do not have a shelter, your blood will turn to ice and your flesh to frost. cities are few and far between, the only way to get to them being dangerous treks on paths only barely there, even with use. the snow does not falter. those who live in seaside villages know that not even the ocean was spared; the waves have long since stopped moving, ships now still, ice as far down as anyone's dared to look. perhaps there is a depth at which its crusade halts, but no one would know.

and in one of these cities, this one being a theocratic city, is nathaniel hawthorne, a priest who has warm lodgings and steady meals. his life is good, it is easy, and then it is not.

walking home one afternoon, he gets bit by a vampire. (they, too, cannot survive in the cold and so must do their hunting in the day. the sun is not there to scorch them, after all.) he's horrified; as anyone else would be, and attempting to go to the church for some kind of help only gets him kicked out.

night is soon arriving, he can feel the chill in his bones, but then the vampire comes crawling back. he learns his name (nikolai gogol), and that he is taking him to his shared home.

he does not have an argument as to where else nikolai could take him. as what little light there is disappears beyond the horizon, they arrive safely.

nikolai lives with a butcher named fyodor, his apprentice sigma; and now nathaniel. fyodor is a fairly devout man and is pissed, to say the least, about nikolai turning a priest. nathaniel and sigma awkwardly get to know each other while fyodor and nikolai argue in the back.

sigma is a rather special person; they have no city that they came from. instead, they came out of the unyielding winter, shivering, having no idea who or what may have made them.

there's others like them; those whose origin comes from nothing but snow and ice are rumored to have powers; magic in their blood, though sigma does not know what type is running through their veins. it has not surfaced yet despite how long fyodor has been waiting.

(it is worth noting that there is another person around like this, a redhead who used to be called arahabaki, but we'll get to them in a bit.)

nathaniel just prays the magic sigma holds could turn him back, to save him from this fate; but perhaps he should have prayed for luck getting used to it.

sigma is interested in helping nathaniel, and fyodor won't argue if it means that sigma gets to hopefully finally unlock his abilities.

as this goes on, elsewhere in the city, two lives once again intertwine. the famous bard, osamu dazai, walks into town, strumming his instrument as always. on the other side of town, chuuya nakahara enters, blade worn from use against elemental constructs that lurk outside of civilization. they meet again as they met at first, in a warm bar with too many people in it.

they used to be a traveling duo, chuuya accomplishing feats while dazai sung about them, but they split up for reasons unknown. dazai still holds onto the songs he wrote of them, but their tunes have all soured.

but he still remembers their softer moments together; chuuya coming to him one late night, telling him arahabaki was not a name they liked being theirs any longer. he told them he'd love them regardless. he said arahabaki was a stupid name anyway.

back to the priest's troubles; eventually, fyodor's friends come to visit. they call themselves the hunting dogs, and they hunt the same things as chuuya does. fukuchi is a good guest, his pack of soldiers the same, albeit a bit chaotic.

nathaniel notes how tachihara seems to get along so well with sigma before he goes and asks fukuchi and the others if they have any cure to the vampirism.

he does not get any results there, and his search to save himself continues.

and that is the plot of my eternal winter au. i hope you like it :)

also i have a pinterest board of it

[eternalchaoschocolaterain]

So, seeing Merula ice skate inspired me and I wrote a little scene. It felt really good to just write after life's stresses caused me a block the past few weeks.

Anyway, the scene:

When she came over, Quinn hadn't expected to find Merula outside. Usually her girlfriend wasn't too fond of the cold. But she wasn't just outside, she was skating on the pond in her garden. All dressed up in thick jeans, a tight black woolen coat and a matching hat.

Standing on ice wasn't exactly Quinn's idea of fun. She'd rather be up the air, or running in sensible shoes. Not slipping away on ice skates, but Merula made it look fun. The way she just glided over the ice, so graceful it almost looked like she was dancing. One feet in the air, moving backwards and even making a pirouette! Quinn couldn't help but stare from her place on the wooden bench.

So there was no way she could've said no when Merula asked if she wanted to give it a try.

'Good, I think I got an old pair that we can size up. Give me a minute,' Merula said and went back inside her house.

Right, there was no sense in waiting anyway. It was a beautiful day. Snow clung to the trees around the pond and glittered in the sunlight.

'What do you think?' Merula held up a pair of black skates that looked like sneakers with a bar underneath.

'Looks good.' Quinn took them while Merula went to put her own skates back on.

The skates were too small, as expected, but nothing a few well-placed engorgio's couldn't fix. By the time they fit Merula was already back to gliding over the ice.

The blades sunk into the snow when Quinn got up and she almost fell over. Great start. She took a first step. One blade slipped against, well she didn't even know what it slipped against, and she fell over. How was she supposed to get to the pond on these things?! Hopefully Merula hadn't noticed.

Melodic laughter sounded out. Too late. She looked up to see Merula glide towards her with a big grin on her pale face. Her cheeks were rosy from the exercise.

'Have you ever gone ice skating anyway?' She held out her gloved hands.

'No, I didn't have skates? Still don't, actually.' Quinn took them both and steadied herself. 'How do you walk with these things?'

'It's about balance. Smalls steps at first.'

Merula took Quinn by her forearms and gently guided her towards the pond. While only a few steps away it took quite an effort to get there and she almost slipped again when she stepped on the ice.

'Don't let go of me!'

'I won't,' Merula soothed, still grinning. 'Do you trust me?'

'I do.'

'Okay. Bend your knees a little. Yes, like that. Now push your foot forward, one at the time.'

Quinn did as she was told and slowly moved forward. How Merula managed to skate backwards while holding her steady was beyond her.

After a few small steps she tried bigger ones and looked down to see what she was doing. It almost made her trip again.

'Don't look down, stupid. Keep looking at me.' She did and Merula had a big smirk on her face. 'I can't believe I'm actually teaching League's sports woman of the year something new.'

'That was last year and it's League, that doesn't- wait you read League?'

'Doesn't everybody?' Merula turned red.

'I think most people just look at the pictures.' Quinn sniggered.

League presented itself as a sports magazine, but mostly featured pictures, with small bodies of text to keep up the pretense. As a teen it had been one of her favourite magazines and a few centerfolds had ended up her walls. So when League asked her to do a shoot last year, she'd been flattered. Even more so when they asked her again for the competition. She ended up being the centerfold and wow did it feel good to be on the same level as the people she admired as a teen. If she didn't feel weird about hanging a picture like that of herself, she might've framed it.

'So, what did you think?'

'You looked good, but I prefer this.' Merula pulled at her forearms to bring her closer and plant a soft kiss on her lips. Before Quinn had a chance to kiss her back, Merula pulled away. 'I'm going to let go now. Keep your legs bend and see if you can do it by yourself.'

With a grumble Quinn nodded and to her surprise she managed to move on her own. Not too bad. She tried a turn and started to gain a little speed. This felt good, maybe ice skating could become a new sport for her.

'Spread your legs and stick one foot out if you want to slow down or stop.' Merula advised while following Quinn, still skating backwards.

Without realising it, she'd begun to stare again and tripped over her feet while trying to slow down. Merula came right over and laughed while helping her get up. Her violet eyes scrunched in delight.

'I see I have my work cut out for me this winter.'

'Just wait, I'll teach you about broomsurfing this summer,' Quinn pretend scoffed. 'See who's laughing then.'

[ace-does-stuff]

Surge

Summary: Lare is dead, as expected she freaks out a bit- it's her first time! Who can blame her? She'd like to consider herself lucky that someone else is there, if that someone else was helpful.

Warnings: Implied character death, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: @bree-sae wrote a fic, and I went, 'crossover time' and proceeded to explode. @sobredunia it's a Kenikari fanwork, I am obligated to tag you in every single piece of Kenikari I write ever.

Why is it so bright? And warm? And never fucking ending, everywhere her eyes land all she can see is white.

Panic settles into her form and she's frozen where she stands, unable to move her legs. Wait, standing. She can, she can probably sit down if there's something that she's standing on. But she should be looking for an exit before anything else, try to scrape up some idea of how she got here.

So Lare walks. Presuming she's heading north instead of south. Or east instead of west. But she walks, she walks through the blank void laid out below and above and all around her.

She walks into someone and they both fall, she's quick to start apologizing. It's returned with a couple shockingly low it's fine's as she takes a moment to look at what she bumped into.

A humanoid, dirty blonde, orange outfit- snow gear in every essence of the word. He's got a knife stuck in the side of his throat but he doesn't seem to notice it. He blearily blinks himself back to awareness and he has indigo eyes.

"You're new here," Was what he said before anything else and that only left Lare with more questions than before.

"Where even is here?" Lare asked, trying her hardest to not ask a hundred other questions.

"This? This is death, you are dead, and so I am," He said and Lare could feel herself panicking, It must've shown because he was quick to try and rebuttal, "Don't worry! You aren't dead dead, you're just yet to return."

"You have a knife sticking out of your neck," Lare said, he feels around for it blindly. He gives a hum before tugging it out, there's almost no blood.

"Almost forgot about that, you get used to it after a while," He said as he drew his knees to his chest, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Lare spits back defensively.

"Kenny- Kenny McCormick, from South Park Colorado!" He wears a grin as he speaks despite the fact he's dead.

"I'm Lare," Lare said stiffly as she held out a hand to shake, Kenny gladly took in a shake.

"Look, I doubt you wanna talk about it but how did it happen?" Kenny asked.

Lare stiffens up, "Why would I tell you?"

"Helps the process go faster," Kenny answered with, "I mean, if you like purgatory I'm not judging."

"I'm pretty sure I froze to death," Was Lares response.

Kenny gives a hum, "Skill issue, anyways, my good friend stabbed me over something stupid- probably pissed I'd rather fuck Kyle than him, might've been monopoly."

Lare has so many questions at the statement.

"I don't know when you'll die next, but if your life is as cruel as mine I doubt we won't see each other again," Kenny said as he tightened his grip on Lare's hand, already fading.

She glanced down to her hand, "Oh fuck what's happening now?!"

"Relax man, you're just reincarnating," Kenny said calmly as Lare started to fade.

"What?!" She sounded distraught at the notions, Kenny placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You aren't gonna wake up a tadpole or some shit, you'll just end up back at home, or somewhere near your death- I don't know how your shtick works," Kenny said in an attempt to console her.

And then Lare passed out.

-/-/-/-

The time between her first death and the next death blur together in a horrible mix of everything and nothing at all. She can still hear him, that stupid voice singed into the back of her head and it's driving her mad. It was some dumb dream her brain produced while she was passed out in the cold room, nothing more.

Which leaves her with the question of how it felt so real.

The ice grasping at her skin. Chills seeping deeper into her lungs. Hands shaking her. Voices begging her to stay awake. It all felt so real, but when she asked questions, ever so subtle, worded carefully at that, they all looked at her like she was insane. Murasaki, Chuyo, Bee, even Mako and Detah- and maybe for a second she believed them that she was insane.

It had to be a dream, it could be nothing else. She pushed it all down and acted like it never happened because who would believe her if it had? No one, no one would believe her even if she wanted to act like they would.

She really hopes that releasing the cart when she trips is the right choice, that Bee and Mako make it out while she doesn't. She can feel the pain start at her feet and then crush the rest of her in an instant, she's sure she's been flattened into a paste rather than a pancake. She can hear Uzomi's scream of her name even after she's been thoroughly killed, the few seconds she gets before being thrust back into the void.

She finds that idiot in orange sipping on a juicebox with a slice down his throat that's still oozing. She walks over and takes a seat down beside him, he perks up a bit and has the audacity to smile.

"You're back!" Kenny sounds happy when he speaks, placing his juice box down beside his thigh as he speaks.

"I actually died," Lare got out quietly, disbelief heavy on her voice. She draws her knees to her chest, "And it's happened before."

"Yeah, the first couple times are always rough," Kenny said, voice softening a bit. He slings an arm around her shoulders, "I had an Italian who only communicates in wahoo! and yippee! with a heavy dose of body language for my first deaths."

"You had Jumpman Mario around when you died?" Lare asked, she sounded a bit hysterical.

"The one and only, he was hard to deal with, but I doubt he enjoyed consoling an idiot third grader who got turned to a platypus and mutilated," Kenny said as though it was common. Lare rested even more of her weight on him.

"Kenny when is it gonna stop?" She choked out quietly.

And Kenny didn't know how to tell her the truth.

"Well, I've been coming back here since the third grade and I'm what, fifteen? Yeah, about fifteen, so, a while," He got out sheepishly, "But hey! You aren't dying a lot which is nice, I used to die every single day."

"Really?" Lare asked, wrapping her arms around her legs as she spoke.

"Really, and then I got some weird ass disease that destroyed my muscle cells. I really thought that I was gonna stay dead when that happened, just me and Kyle, and then I was gone. I was here, but I wasn't there, and then I stayed here for weeks straight," Kenny said, he heaved a sigh, "But I'm back to my usual death schedule with slight alterations, so far you've only died twice which is rather impressive."

Lare was crying now.

"It'll be fine," Kenny said, "Promise," He rubbed Lares arm a bit.

Lare didn't answer.

"Ready to say how it happened?" Kenny asked.

"I was crushed to death by a rolling stone," Lare choked out on a strangled sob, "It was fast, but really shitty- children watched it happen Kenny! There were two kids who I hope lived even though I died."

"I'm sure that they did," Kenny said, he tightened his grip on her a bit, she wasn't fading yet.

"How about you? Who slit your throat over a game of monopoly?" Lare asked, almost jokingly. She had a gut feeling it would be much worse than that.

Kenny quirks a brow before realizing what she means, "Oh, that, that's nothing- most of the damage is internal. I don't know what they slid in through the hole," He brought his fingers to pull it open further and Lare gagged, "But it was something sharp and probably poison coated."

"Nasty," Lare said, sticking out her tongue a bit as she spoke.

"Super, but I've had worse deaths," Kenny said, he grinned a bit as he thought back on them, "Wanna hear?"

"Why not, pass the time or whatever," Lare said dismissively before her partner in death started to ramble.

[souls-page]

Page 52

Jordan stood there in front of Jyhans house in the cold, the snow hadn’t stopped falling since yesterday…looking up at the second-floor window which was where Jyhans room was, and looking at the tree branch right in front of it, he chuckled to himself and tried to keep in the laughter just in case his parents were awake this early in the morning.

Jordan has lots of ideas, not that all of them are great, but ideas are ideas, and Jordan is great so that neutralizes all the bad parts of this plan, he starts climbing up the tree, one pull at a time he giggles like a kid as he does, and before he realizes (he actually struggled a lot and was desperate to come to that specific branch) he’s there in front of Jyhans window on a tree branch.

It's not the first time he’s done it but it's not that he does it often either, he looks inside and sees Jyhan sitting on a chair in front of his desk studying??? Again???’ Jordan thinks to himself as he clings to the branch of his life.

He reaches and knocks as the branch slightly shakes with his weight on it, he yelps and clings back to it, he looks down and realizes exactly how high he is before looking back up at Jyhans window to see him still looking at his paper.

Jordan groans and yelps again as the branch shakes, he hurriedly knocks on Jyhans window, now terrified for his own life, his face lights up as Jyhan seems to perk up and finally looks at the window, immediately making eye contact with Jordan, open-mouthed raised eyebrows, okay you can’t hold it against Jordan, he was already at the tree branch it's not like he can go down anyway.

Jordan smiled brightly as Jyhan finally opened his window and entered dusting some snow on Jyhans floor “Hey!! That my floor's getting wet!”

“It's snow Jyhan!” Jordan retorted as he continued to dust off the snow and shrug his coat and jacket off, “It's gonna melt and then wet my floor!” Jyhan said as he stood there and watched as Jordan removed his layers rolling his eyes at Jordan “Well I did it already I can't pick up the snow anymore it's already melted”

“oh so now u admit it wets the floor?” Jyhan asked one eyebrow raised “Leave alone!! It's cold outside, let me stay here where it's warm” Jordan said as he removed his shoes and lay on Jyhans bed.

“at least don't get my bed wet with melted snow dum dum” Jyhan said as he went back to his desk and wrote his paper, Jordan let out a fake pained gasp “I climbed a tree just to go to you in this snowy weather and you’d rather focus on your paper than me??? Your boyfriend??” Jordan joked as he stood up and draped himself over Jyhan smiling crazily, Jyhan who was now hunched over his desk laughed,

“I'm so sorry I f-forgot you were my boyfriend” They both laughed in tune with one another, Jyhan turning his chair to look at Jordan as Jordan's smile widened now being able to take a proper look at Jordan, Jordan looked at Jyhan, god Jyhan looked tired, his hair was askew and he had eyebags under his eyes.

“Is there any reason why you went here?” Jyhan asked as Jordan sat on the ground and laid his head on Jyhans lap “Not really just wanted to be with you, I know u get cold this time of the year so I’m offering myself as tribute to be your hot pack”

Jyhan laughed and hit Jordans' shoulder lightly “I don’t know what you're talking about, you get cold easily too jor, your hands are freezing right now and they’ve just brushed up against my ankle”

Jordan looked up at Jyhan with a faux scandalized expression ready–only to be met with Jyhan who looked so soft with the light of the lamp beside him making him look even more beautiful, and he just felt the words die in his throat.

Jyhan looked at him accusingly with a smile “What? What is it?” Jyhan asked Jordan who was still looking at him, Jordan looked away and buried himself in Jyhans lap “Nothing” Jordan said as his face flushed red with the realization he was staring at Jyhan. Jyhan played with Jordans' hair for a while, a few chuckles escaping his mouth waiting for Jordan to say anything.

The whole boyfriend joke thingy started with him and it's affecting him so much more than it should be, it's not like Jyhan knows it's eating him up inside, hell he’d rather be eaten out of existence than let Jyhan know he likes him, he breathes in and out as he tried to cool his face, coughing to steady his voice, Jordan looked up again at Jyhan.

“You aren’t overworking yourself are you?” he asked Jyhan his voice slightly unsteady, Jyhans hand stilled on his head “I’ve eaten and got water,” he said slowly as he went back to playing with Jordans hair like nothing happened, but now avoiding eye contact with Jordan.

Jordans eyes squinted at Jyhan one eyebrow raised obviously not believing the lie, Jordan held Jyhans wrist sitting straight on Jyhan's floor now looking worriedly at Jyhan “Come on, Jyhan we talked about this…” Jordan said as he held onto Jyhans hand and looked at Jyhan.

“The exam is near Jor” Jyhan said as he looked Jordan in the eyes, he looked so vulnerable Jordan felt like some a-hole but he knew Jyhan would be more hurt if he continued to miss sleep, “Jyhan,” Jordan said one more time.

“I can’t Jordan, I can’t fail this exam,” Jyhan said as he got his hand out of Jordans grasp and stood up, Jordan stood up with him and looked at Jyhan who was now physically putting space between them “How many days?” Jordan asked as he looked at Jyhan who now that he was actually looking looked slightly thinner, god he was so stupid why didn’t he check up on him sooner?

He reached out but Jyhan backed away, and his hand was left mid-air, Jordan looked at Jyhan and back at his paper and sighed, he walked past Jyhan and went out of his room, by the quiet house no one seemed to be awake by this time, he went to the kitchen and he looked back and didn’t see Jyhan following him,

He sighed as he got a cup of water some vitamins and some food and snacks that he could get, and walking up the stairs holding everything he walked back into Jyhans room to see Jyhan had already sat back down on the chair but was looking at the door, was looking at him, he knew he couldn’t talk right now less he wants to sound heartbroken and make Jyhan feel more guilty.

He ignored Jyhan looking at him and just set everything down on Jyhans table, “eat, drink the water then the vitamins” he said as he walked back to the bed to lay down on it with his eyes closed not opening them until he heard some movement.

Taking a peek he says Jyhan was eating the snacks he had brought and looking at his paper, Jordan sighed, but he knew that was at least better than Jyhan not having anything, “I’m sorry” he heard Jyhan say, Jordan just stayed there laying on Jyhans bed with his eyes open back turned against Jyhan “do you even know what you're sorry for?”

“Yes, I know u care about me and I know I did something wrong” Jordan heard Jyhan say seemingly right after he had downed the vitamins “If you're really sorry you’d come here and sleep”

“next to you?” Jyhan said his tone light “Please, don’t act like we hadn’t slept next to each other before” Jordan said back still turned from Jyhan closing his eyes as he heard Jyhan stand up from his chair, he felt the bed dip beside him and opened his eyes,

His eyes met Jyhans tired and apologetic ones, “I’m really sorry” Jyhan said as he reached out and held Jordans hand Jordan held his hand back and squeezed lightly “You can’t keep ignoring your health and prioritizing things above it” Jordan said as he looked at Jyhan, his voice was pained “I won’t”

“You said that last time and look at you here now,” Jordan said as he looked at Jyhan whose body was tensing up again, Jordan watched as Jyhan looked at him and back at the desk, his face slightly scrunched before melting more on the bed “Okay, I promise this is the last”

“you also said that last time,” Jordan said rolling his eyes but before he could get any words in “I promise on my Kim Dokja plush” Jordans eyes widened looking at Jyhans determined eyes, he’d looked so tired but now he looks so shit Jordan wrong timing, so wrong timing, he blinked again and looked at Jyhan mouth agape.

“Okay,” he stuttered out as Jyhan laughed squeezing their conjoined hands “You promised okay?” Jordan said as he pulled Jyhans hand “Yeah yeah” Jyhan said as he pulled the blanket to go over him and Jordan did the same,

Jordan watched as Jyhan closed his eyes their hands still holding onto one another, “Goodnight jor” Jyhan whispered in the space between them “Actually it's morning-” “Shut the fuck up, goodnight Jordan” Jyhan said.

“goodnight Jyhan,” he said his voice light and filled with affection, Jyhan might be the death of him but he’s also one of the main reasons he’s still alive, so it evens out somehow, Jordan thinks, as he’s looking at Jyhans face lit up by the light from the window, he looked so peaceful, he looked so beautiful.

“Goodnight Jyhan”

[somerunner]

Relic Knight Remnant - chapter 1

Cradle/12 Miles Below crossover

There's this web serial I've been reading for the past couple years called "12 Miles Below" that I really enjoy. I wrote a fic for it; there are pretty big spoilers for book 4. It probably won't be all that enjoyable for my Cradle mutuals/followers/random scrollers, since there's no Cradle involvement in the first chapter.

Some basic info about 12 Miles Below -- it takes place in a post-post-apocalyptic Earth, where much of humanity lives in an antarctic wasteland. They have power armor and swords that cut anything, and there are plenty of people who live in the warm underground. There are a lot of roaming machines who kill every human they run across; the only way to beat them is with the aforementioned power armor and swords. There are also non-hostile, roughly ant-sized and ant-shaped machines, called mites. These little buddies keep the underground structures maintained, and can't easily communicate with humans.

Anyway, here's the fic. SPOILERS for 12 MB book 4.

The light was blinding, disorienting. When it finally broke his shields, Windrunner felt time skip a second ahead, along with some lingering pain, like he had just taken a particularly hard punch to the face.

The first thing he thought after coming to was, "this isn't how the others described it." The Winterscar Prime described death as a trek into the white wastes without a suit. A bitter and hostile environment where you died a very short time after entering it. Metaphorically, there was snow almost to your waist, slowing you down while you tried to find shelter. You could try and hold your breath, but it would only provide less than a minute of warm air before you collapsed anyway.

But Windrunner's own death wasn't like that at all. There was no spiritual wind or even cold; nothing tearing away at his substance or corroding it until it fractured. Everything around him was almost…pleasant. He couldn't help but feel like he'd gone to the afterlife in the time it took for his mind to recover from his shields being broken. He didn't even get to experiment with being a disembodied soul before he was destroyed. That was annoying, but he supposed he'd be grateful there was an afterlife.

"Transport." What? He tried to spin around, but felt no feedback. Right, just a soul. "Offer: One-way Transport." That voice somehow didn't sound like anything. No accent, no robotic tone like a drake's. If he had to guess, though, it was definitely some kind of machine. And considering they were close to a mite forge, it was probably mites.

Great, he thought. Either the mites are in the afterlife, or I've become the party's second mite speaker.

"Offer: One-way Transport." Oh, right. It was probably waiting for some kind of response, so Windrunner tried to figure out what the soul equivalent of speaking was. Maybe just thinking real hard.

His first attempt turned out as a message of agreement. Basically a "sure, sounds good." That wasn't ideal, but the mites were supposed to be trustworthy, so he didn't backtrack. He did manage to tack on an extra message of confusion. “What's this 'offer' mean, anyway?"

Offer accepted. Offer: One-way Transport. (Vehicle: Wave-stabilized Fractal Echo.) (Quantity: 1) Payment Required: Human Fractal Echo (Service: Return when able.) Offer: One- Repeat message aborted.

That…well, Windrunner had read stories and myths about mite-speakers, but this sounded relatively straightforward. He hadn't gotten any answers, really, but this was familiar mite terminal language. He'd never gone to a mite forge himself, and rarely talked to Undersider knights, so whether this was par for the course was anyone's guess.

The trade seemed bizarrely favorable, but he wasn't going to complain. “Return when able” probably meant to just communicate with mites after the fight was over. He couldn't really do anything else for the mites, which probably factored into their deal.

He sent a message of agreement again, and he felt something happen. Whatever cousin to soul sight he was using right now, it got hemmed in. Hopefully that meant he was getting put into armor instead of just someone's extra soul fractal. Assuming that they made it to the forge to pick him up.

The others were still up against one or Feathers and down a clan lord…he hoped Keith had finished off To’Sefit. Even one Feather was a lot for him to handle without Wrath to help him tag-team.

Fractal Echo assembled. Chambering acausal cannon…100% Constructing acausal bridge…100% Generating mission summary. Appending "Information on Acausal Physics, vol. 1". Goodbye, Human Echo. Find a way back. (File: 5 GB)

That caught him off guard. He'd brushed over the "one-way" in the first few messages; of course it would be one way! He'd be going into a soul fractal and be taken out of whatever storage they had him in! This was starting to sound like he was going to lose all contact with the offer maker entirely, which meant it either wasn't mites or they were sending him off somewhere else. Not back to the other knights. Not back to help.

"Where are you sending me?"

The only answer he got was a sense of acceleration, starting off slow before spiking and cutting out.

[millersdjarin]

Some Invisible String

Chapter I: High Tide

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: E (eventually)

Summary: Ten years after Reader left Joel for reasons he still doesn't know, they find themselves together again in a town called Jackson. Joel has questions he's too afraid to ask; and Reader dreads having to give the answers.

Tags/Warnings: eventual smut, post tlou part I, jackson era joel <3, emotion!!!

Chapter length: 3.3k

notes: my first multi-chapter joel fic! overall title is from taylor swift's "invisible string", chapter I title also from taylor, "this love" ♥︎ eventual smut will be here too! so far it's going to be 5 chapters :) enjoy! ps. i recently switched to writing in second person but when i wrote this fic i was still writing in first person, hope u don't mind! will be posting updates regularly

I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. Really, I don’t. 

But, then again, nothing has been a good idea in twenty years, and I’m still here. So, there’s that. 

One minute I was out hunting in the snow, tracking a deer that made itself vulnerable in the woods beside a half-frozen creek. If I could get him, I thought, it’d keep me going with food for a week at least. Best thing about winter: food stays fresh in the cold. 

Worst thing: everything else. Literally everything else. 

Because now, what started as a quick hunt with an almost-guaranteed prize at the end, has ended in me literally fighting for my fucking life, rolling around in foot-deep snow as runners try to rip the shit out of me. 

It doesn’t help that the commotion has led a bunch of local hunters—who clearly had the same idea as me—to my location. They’ve got the deer, they’ve shot me in the leg, and I’m either going to bleed out, get bitten, or get eaten by infected. 

So, this is great. 

Blood rushing in my ears, I seize the moment a hunter shoots one of the nearby runners and use it to take shelter behind a rock for a minute, surrounded by the groans and screams of infected who are still searching for me or attacking the hunters. Gunshots ring loud throughout the air, along with the smashing of a few molotovs as the bottles hit the snow, the roaring of flames as they engulf bodies. 

My leg is bleeding into the snow. Actually, it’s damn near gushing, pulsing out with each beat of my heart. 

Footsteps are getting closer to me. I try to put pressure on the wound, but the bullet is still there, and it fucking hurts, and my vision is going blurry. The screams of infected are getting less and less as, presumably, the men take them out. 

I’m not bitten. Not yet. But that’s the least of my worries, if the pool of red snow I’m creating below me is anything to go by. 

It’s starting to leech into the snow surrounding the rock, easily giving away my location. As the last infected screams with a squelch of a blade into one of its body parts, one of the men shouts, “Hey! She’s over there! Flank her!” 

Ha. As if they even need to flank me. 

My head is spinning. Blood, shiny and thick, coats my hands. It’s all over me. It’s fucking everywhere. It won’t stop bleeding. 

I’m going to fucking die. 

These men are going to kill me, or do worse while they wait for me to die. Surviving the apocalypse as a woman is a fucking joke. 

I reach for my gun, but there are spots in my vision now. Dark red and black. It’s a mixture of real blood in my eyes and blood loss making me dizzy. I can feel it fading. All of it. The cold, the feeling in my body, the sound around me, everything…

It’s fading. 

There are heavy, men’s footsteps getting closer. 

I’m just debating whether I have the strength to fight back, or even to just end it all myself before they get chance, when I hear it. 

A new gun. A new set of voices. The hunters’ attention is turned away from me once more as their footsteps crunching in the snow turn away and head for whoever else has decided to grace us with their presence. 

It doesn’t matter. I’m out anyway. After all this time, all this fighting, after everything I’ve lost—I’m going to die here in the snow, in the middle of nowhere in Jackson County, after being shot by a fucking hunter. 

Then, I hear a voice. 

It could be a southern accent. I could swear that it is - that it’s real.

But I always knew that in my last moments I’d hear him, real or not. It’s been ten years, but I still hear him in the night sometimes, as I’m falling asleep or jolting awake. Sometimes when I get injured, I hear him tutting, I feel his fingers on my skin, patching me up. 

Now, sitting here dying in the snow, I could swear that it’s him.

It’s not. It can’t be. 

But as the last of my consciousness fades, as I feel the final thread of me begin to fray, I let myself believe that it is. 

I hold onto the sound. So clear, like he’s right there next to me. 

I never wanted to die alone. I’m going to pretend that I won’t. 

“Joel…” I feel his name slip through my lips for the first time in years. 

His name, and his voice saying my name in return, are the last things I hear before I go. 

-

Well, goddamn. 

If this is hell, there is no fire, so it could be worse; but if it’s heaven, Jesus, I don’t want it.

I can’t even wake up. My eyes feel heavy. It’s like I’m clawing back to consciousness after a bad fever. After a surgery that went wrong. Before I can even think or begin to open my eyes or listen for sounds, I can feel that every inch of me hurts. Like I’ve been cut open, rearranged, and sewn back together again. 

So, it’s not heaven. Cool. Fine. I’m going to suffer for eternity, then? 

Except, when I hear it, I freeze. (Metaphorically speaking. I’m already frozen in whatever spot I’ve been cursed to.) 

“She’s waking up.” That isn’t Joel. But it’s similar, and familiar. It sounds like...

Why the hell is Tommy here?

Then, it’s his voice again. My name, in Joel’s voice. 

If nothing else, the confusion gets me to force my eyes open. 

And the first thing I see is him. 

“Hey,” Joel says, “can you hear me? Wake up…you’re safe…” 

I blink a few times. Then, beneath the pain in my body, I realise that I’m warm. I’m under something soft and cosy; a wool blanket, it feels like, if the scratching against my bare arms is anything to go by. 

Any other sensation doesn’t really matter right now, though, because I can’t take my eyes off of Joel. He’s just there, hovering above me with even more creases on his forehead than I remember, an especially big one sitting between his eyebrows right now that looks like someone’s drawn it there. 

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” he sounds distant but close all at once, and soft and gruff just like he used to. 

“I…” I manage to stammer while I vaguely register that there is daylight around us, though it’s fading into shades of amber and pink. Approaching sunset. Last I remember, it had only just risen.

Not without struggle, I get my body to move, but the second I shift in my place, a blinding pain shoots from my leg to all angles, hitting my head and my toes. 

Well. I’m starting to think I’m not actually dead. 

“Hey, don’t try to move, you’re hurt,” Joel says again. 

Joel. 

...Joel? 

Joel!? 

“J—Joel?” As I start to realise that it seems I am very much alive, somehow that fact just makes for more confusion. I look around, and Tommy is there, too, standing by the room’s window, leaning on the butt of his rifle where it sits at his chest, the barrel facing the floor. He looks older, too. Much older. He’s got almost as many wrinkles and greys as Joel does now. 

Someone else enters the picture after a minute. A woman with a frown of concern pushes Joel away—in my delirium I almost forget that he’s probably real, and that it wouldn’t be appropriate to reach out and pull him back—and then her face is above mine, shining a torch in my eyes. 

I squint against it but she holds my eyes open and inspects them. “How are you feeling?” She asks. Her voice is husky but kind, the faintest trace of a Brooklyn accent making itself known. 

“I—confused,” is all I can say, dumbly. Joel is standing behind her, looking over her shoulder with a frown that reaches new depths. (He frowned a lot back in the day, but geez, he’s got even better at it.) “Where am I? Who—who are you?” 

“I’m Angela,” she answers, removing the blinding torch from my eyes, instead pressing two firm fingers into the pulse point on my wrist. “You’re in a town called Jackson. It seems you already know these two fellas.” 

“I—yeah,” I manage to laugh a little in disbelief. Tommy is still there on the opposite side of the room, smiling just a little, fond and nostalgic. It’s then that Angela’s words hit me. A town? “I…is this…am I…the hunters…you…?” My words aren’t coherent or related enough to count as a sentence, or even a completed question. 

“It’s our town,” Tommy says with a small smile. “You got nothin’ to worry about. No one here’s a hunter, and you’re in good hands.” He nods to Angela. 

I look back to her and frown at the way she’s wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Are you…a doctor?” 

“I am,” she answers. “You got shot. Lost a lot of blood. These two found you just outside town with barely enough time—or blood—to spare.” 

I can’t stop glancing between Angela, Joel, and Tommy. It’s like I’m watching a tennis match between three people. 

I’m still not entirely sure this is real. In a fever dream, or even in my last moments, my brain would definitely conjure up something like this. A safe town, where I’m under a warm blanket, on a soft bed, and being looked after by two people who used to be the most important people in my life. 

“I…” I’m interrupted by the door swinging open. It lets in a brief shock of cold wind, but Joel quickly reaches out to close it behind whoever has just come in. 

“Ellie, I told you to wait outside,” Joel says lowly, so quiet I can barely hear him. 

“It’s freezing out there! And I’m worried. Is she awake—?” The girl—Ellie, apparently—pushes past Joel to look over Angela’s shoulder at me. Her concerned frown relaxes when she sees me. She’s just a kid; probably barely fifteen. I’ve never seen her before, but she’s looking at me like she was terrified I was going to die. “Oh, you’re awake!” 

“I…am.…”

Joel puts his hand on Ellie’s shoulder and gently pulls her back a little. “Give her some space. Angela’s still working.” 

“You know, she’s the best. Last month Joel dislocated his shoulder and she reset it before he could even scream—”

“Alright,” Joel interrupts her, “Ellie. Why don’t you get our guest some food, alright?” 

“Something hot,” Angela requests. 

A hot meal and a comfortable bed. This has to be some kind of pre-death dream.

“It’s almost dinner time at the kitchen,” Tommy offers with a knowing smile, “see what you can rustle up.” 

Ellie sighs, but nods. Before turning to leave, she looks at me again and says, “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll get you the good stuff.” 

The door lets in another whoosh of cold air, but Joel closes it as soon as possible. It’s then that I realise there’s a fireplace on the wall behind the bed; the flames crackle in the light breeze before settling down again. 

“I need to check your wound,” Angela says. “Don’t suppose one of you boys can help me out? I need someone to distract her.” 

“Distract me? From what?” 

“I’m gonna take off your bandage and check the stitches. Then I’m gonna clean it. It’s going to hurt.” 

“I don’t need distracting,” I say, meaning it. I’ve dealt with worse. Hell, somehow I survived this. But Joel is still gazing at me, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe, like he’s scanning for even the slightest inkling that something else is wrong they haven’t noticed yet. (Seems unlikely—I’m wearing different clothes than I was before.)

Mentally squirming under his gaze for the first time in a long time, when I never thought I would again, I realise that I might not need distracting, but I do need answers. 

Or something close to it. 

“I’ll stay,” Joel offers, as if reading my mind. He was always so good at that. It’s weird. Someone so emotionally unavailable shouldn’t be good at that. 

Tommy pushes off from the wall, stopping at the foot of my bed. “Don’t be afraid to break his hand,” he offers, grinning lopsidedly, “man needs an excuse to stop for one goddamn minute.” He grins at Joel when he grumbles in response. “I’ll be outside. Need anythin’, give me a holler.” And with that, he’s out the door. 

Angela carefully pulls the blanket up and away from my leg, revealing the side of my thigh where the bullet went in. It hurts for something to even be moving in close proximity to it, like my skin is on red alert. 

I wish I could say I’ve gotten good at hiding my pain, after all these years of surviving it; but I haven’t. It still shows on my face like it did the day the outbreak happened; like it did when I was barely an adult.

Joel knows. He pulls up a wooden chair beside my bed, offers up his scarred, calloused hand. There’s an expression on his face I can’t quite read. The faintest hints of a sheepish smile, maybe, crows feet deepening around his eyes. It looks like he’s saying, Funny seein’ you here, and I can hear that in his voice, gruff and sarcastic, so I just imagine that that’s what he’s trying to say. 

I glance down at his hand, then back up. For a moment I consider not taking it. 

It’s been ten years. 

I left for a reason. 

But then Angela starts pulling at the bandage wrapped tight around my leg, and the pain is fucking horrific. It’s a stabbing, a pulling, and an aching all at once. It starts at the bullet wound and pulses out like cracks of lightning, through my bones, my nerves, up my hips and to my neck. 

A sharp inhale through my teeth, a blinding flash of pain that whites out my vision for a second, and I’m reaching for Joel’s hand before I can even think any more about it.

“Why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re doin’ here?” Joel’s voice comes through the blood rushing through my ears. “Last I saw you, we were in Texas.”

“What—what am I doing here?” I laugh, incredulous, and gasp as another wave of pain comes. “I don’t even—know—where I am.” Angela is working away and it hurts, it fucking hurts. But I think, at least, this is the final piece of proof I needed to confirm that I am not actually dead.

That, and the way Joel’s thumb is smoothing over the top of my hand, even though I’m squeezing his so hard that it must hurt like fuck. He’s doing it like he’s not even thinking about it. Like it’s second nature. 

I left for a reason. 

“You’re in Jackson,” he says. 

“I know that. I just—don’t—” I grunt in between words as Angela takes alcohol to the wound. “I don’t know how far—how far you took me—”

“You were barely outside the town. The hunters that got you were bandits on their way to us."

"Right," I say, still not really understanding.

"So it’s just coincidence we found ourselves together again?” 

Yes! I left for a fucking reason! 

I’m realising I’m not saying it out loud. 

I’m not saying it out loud because I never even told Joel there was a reason, let alone what that reason actually was. 

“I—guess so,” I grit out. “Sometimes the Universe likes to laugh at us. I—oh, Jesus!” A particularly intense stab of pain comes as Angela starts dabbing at the wound. It’s a bruise, a gash, a cut, all at once. 

“It’s alright, hey, just look at me,” Joel’s voice comes, so familiar that it hurts, so soft that it hurts—“Look right at me. That’s it. Do you remember where you were when this happened?” 

“I—in the snow,” I answer, staring into his eyes like they’re a lifeline. Angela has started wrapping a new bandage around it now, tight and secure. It hurts. It just fucking hurts. Everything fucking hurts. “The forest. I was—hunting for food. Then…infected. Infected came and—then—hunters…” 

Joel nods, encouraging me to continue. 

I can’t, though. The pain is too much. Looking at him is too much. 

I screw my eyes shut, and a traitorous, humiliating tear spills from one of them. In frustration, a groan splits past my lips, and I reach up my other hand to wipe away the tear. 

“Nearly done,” Angela promises.

My teeth are biting down on my lip so hard that I can taste blood; but the pain of that is paling in comparison to everything else, so it doesn’t bother me. 

“God fucking dammit,” I grunt as another tear falls. 

Down to my very core, it is humiliating. 

To be here, writhing in pain, and crying in front of Joel, of all people. Crying during the apocalypse. Crying because he’s there. Because his eyes are still the same.

I’ve always been too soft. I was never as hard as Joel. Or as anyone else around me. 

As a kid, books always said that being soft was a strength in its own way. That it was a quality to be proud of. But in this world, all it’s ever brought me is close to death.

“All done,” Angela says. 

Though the pain is still very much alive and well, I breathe out a sigh of relief, waiting eagerly for it to ebb. Realising I’m still holding onto Joel’s hand so tight that my knuckles have gone white, I release him, and take a deep breath. 

“Good job,” he says. Whether he’s saying it to me or Angela, I’m not sure. He observes his hand, lifting it up to look at as he stretches his fingers out. “Jesus, woman. Gonna need a new hand after that.” 

I laugh, breathy. “I had permission.” 

“From Tommy,” Joel counters with a grumble. 

“I knew you wouldn’t mind.” I say it before I can give it permission. And the softness in my voice—well. That’s just downright not fair. 

Joel’s eyes meet mine again. He holds them there for a moment too long. Looks like he might want to say something, but then doesn’t, and stands up. His green flannel shirt stretches so nicely over his shoulders, even broader now than they were back then. His hair is flecked with grey, as is his beard, which is longer now. 

I used to lie awake at night and imagine running my fingers over it. I used to cherish the way my hands fit over his shoulders when he boosted me up onto a ledge. The way the muscles in his arms flexed and showed veins when I hoisted him up behind me. 

We used to be a team, me, him, and Tommy. 

Now, staring at him as he leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest, I think about those times. I can’t help it. There are dark and grey hairs on his chest, peeking up above the top button. I remember how his heart feels under there from the time I had to stitch up a gash there. I remember his pulse, from keeping my finger on it all night when he was feverish from an infected knife wound. 

Tommy and I nursed him back, but I thought we’d lost him. 

I thought a lot of things.

And, well. There was no other choice. 

I left.

♥︎chapter 1/5♥︎

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[moralina]

Family reunion | Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie atends your annual family gathering, and for no ones surprise, he fits right in.

A/N: am i allowed to post a christmas fic a month after christmas? anyway trying to write again for eddie. not sure if i really captured his personality. anyway last time i wrote for him it was a flop, hope this is better

warnings: none, just fluff and reader's family loving eddie. Fem!reader. My english (it's been a while since ive done anything in english).

There was a light breeze flowing around you, coming from the slightly open window to your left. The cold weather of December made itself present in every joint of your body, making it impossible for you to work on your current task.

The sound of the oven clicking brought you back to your senses, your eyes moving from your frozen hands to the - hopefully -  appetizing lasagna, ready to be set on the table and enjoyed by your whole family.

As clockwork, you heard a weak knock at your front door, a smile making itself present on your features as you knew exactly who was at the door.

"I got it!" you screamed at whoever was there to listen - your family was all in the living room enjoying the nice warmth of the fireplace while you were left to freeze in the kitchen.

There was a tradition done every year one week before Christmas. Every member of your family would get together at someone's house, a game would take place, and the loser was assigned to the main course of the night in the following year. It would be a weekend event, and it was just a big excuse for everyone to see each other. Every year, you'd be excited for this one weekend, happy to taste every food on the table and every dessert your body would allow you to eat.

This year, though, you wanted to jump inside the oven and stay there with the lasagna. It was too cold, and you were extremely tired from all the events of the previous week.

One of your colleagues at work chose to quit in one of the most tumultuous weeks of the month so far. You were dreading the days before Christmas, already knowing people would go on a last-hour shopping spree. Every single thing that needed to be done at the store was thrown your way.

"Welcome to my humble abode, young gentleman." You bowed down after opening the door. As you expected, Eddie was standing - rather awkwardly - on the front steps of your house. He looked terrified - and cute, as always.

"Hi, baby. Hi." His voice soft, as if he was scared to speak any louder.

"Where's my kiss?" you asked after a long, silent 30 seconds of just staring at each other. Your voice calm, and smile gentle, trying to give him as much comfort as you could.

"Sorry." He mumbled, a breathy chuckle left his lips before he closed the distance between the two of you. "So?" he asked, arms open while he did a little dance to show off his clothes, "how do I look?"

"Pretty." You kissed his nose, "like you always do, Eds." Your hand grabbed his, pushing him closer to you. Before closing the door, your eyes traveled to the dark sky above you; heavy gray clouds adorned its splendor. "I think it's going to snow." You mumbled more to yourself, but Eddie heard you. With a shine to his eyes and hands going around your figure, he rested his chin on your shoulder before whispering in your ear.

"You do? Maybe we can build a snowman later."

You sighed, your hot breath creating clouds when coming into contact with the chilling weather. Despite his chattering teeth - due to the night’s cool temperature cutting through his clothes, - his heart was warm against his chest. Never in a million years did Eddie Munson think he'd feel so... domestic with someone. So safe and belonging.

"Oh my god, Y/n. Let the boy inside, he's freezing!" your aunt urged you both inside "c'mon honey, we have some hot chocolate waiting for you." She ended her sentence by dragging Eddie to the living room, his eyes wide. Before disappearing into the corner, he looked your way, and you sent him a teasing smirk. You could see his face relax a little, but his big brown eyes were still as wide, as if they were gonna pop out of their sockets. You couldn’t help the amused chuckle that left your mouth.

"Are you coming to our Easter treasure hunt, honey?" You could hear your aunt ask him as you approached the living room, her voice so sweet and tender. Eddie had never felt so welcomed before, especially by adults, - they usually considered him a bad influence on their kids - and these people barely knew him and still, were treating him as a part of their family.

it all felt so weird but so good at the same time.

"um" he didn't really know what to say. You haven’t invited him, and he didn’t want to intrude on your family’s activities. Being here tonight already felt like too much, so in his head, it was better not to overstep. He didn’t want to ruin everything with you by being too clingy. He settled with "I’m not sure." and a shake of his shoulders.

"Oh, don't be silly!" she rolled her eyes at him and waved her hand. "You're definitely invited; maybe with your help, Y/n will be able to win."

"Hey!" you exclaimed, hand on your heart, "I won in ‘82."

"Yes, indeed." she slowly nodded her head. You knew she had more to say. "Because you cheated."

"I didn't cheat!"

"oh! as if i wouldn’t know. You’re the worst liar in the family!" you huffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest like a grumpy child. Eddie could see the small twitch of your lips, definitely holding a smirk back. At that, he had to laugh, and it was quite loud, making everyone turn their attention from you to him. He coughed, trying to hide it as if no one had just heard him.

"Well," she spoke again, "if y/n thinks she’s too good for a partner on the hunt, you can be mine." she stated simply.

"you’d love that wouldn’t you?" you huffed a laugh.

Before sitting down, you glanced at Eddie. His lips turned upward, and he eyed every member of your family with admiration and curiosity. You nodded towards the comfy sofa, and after gripping his hand, you pushed him down to sit with you.

"Sorry for her, she’s a lot sometimes." you whispered to him after your family settled back into their previous conversation.

"Are you kidding me? She's great!" he exclaimed, bright, dark eyes looking at you adoringly.

Like you knew he would, Eddie fitted just perfectly with your family, and after his initial shyness went away, he was able to be himself, his dramatic way of storytelling amusing your relatives, who listened intently to him while he told them about the time you almost hit an old lady while he tried to teach you how to drive.

It was not a funny story to you

"That did not happen like that."

"it definitely did!"

"I’m sure Eddie is telling the truth." your aunt spoke again, making you glare at her while the whole family nodded their heads in agreement. Your younger cousins holding their laughs, but failing miserably.

"you’re all traitors!" you exclaimed, making Tyler, an 8-year-old little devil, smirk and say

"You know, Eddie, i like you" he squinted at you and nodded his head, as if satisfied with his conclusion, "maybe we can trade you for him."

"ha ha, very funny." You stuck your tongue out at him, but before he could respond, your eyes widened, and you stood up abruptly, "Oh my god, the lasagna!" your voice faded as you made your run to the kitchen.

"she’ll definitely not be in charge of the dinner next year."

"Remember me again," your aunt sighed, "why did we let the kid in charge this year?"

A/n: Yeah, idk 😭😭😭

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