#at least this will be hopefully funny sometime down the road

[crazybutgood]

one more emergency squeezing its way into my 2024 🫠🗡️

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter One

Jake x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: Anxious theme, Bickering, Brotherly Taunting, Uncomfortable situations, Yearning (oh the yearning) Smoking, Alcohol (it's a bar- feels self explanatory but just for safety) Shitty dad jokes, and silly goofy boy time!

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Jake has spent most of his 20's single or just random dates here and there. Unfortunately for him, his brothers and their partners are all on board for trying to find him the love of his life.

Author's Note: hehe hi :) I couldn't resist any longer. I hope you love Jake as much as I do.

Beggars Song - Matt Maeson "Oh yeah, I'm a beat down, washed up, son of a bitch, I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent, but I'ma Be damned if I let it keep me down."

The soft ‘click’ of the door latching behind me as I sneak out of Willa and Quinn’s apartment. It stopped snowing a few hours ago, so the plows have had time to take care of the roads. Hopefully, they could get out of there quickly enough to make it home. I can’t be shocked that we all got roped into a slumber party, especially with Josh involved. I honestly didn’t even mind it; sometimes, spending time with everyone is nice, not in the bar. My heart was whole, watching everyone laugh and smile together. 

Their apartment complex wasn’t too far from the bar, but I don’t trust the roads enough to drive the speed limit.

‘Oh, what a night, 

Late December back in ‘63..’ 

“Oooh, this one hits,” I say as the song fills the car. Turning the volume, I tap along on my steering wheel. Taking my time, I can appreciate how the snow softly coats the trees, which kind of makes up for the lack of leaves. The sun feels extra bright today, bouncing off all the snow piles and practically making the ground light up. 

‘What a lady, what a night.’ 

“Oh, I, I got a funny feeling when she walked in the room,” I quietly sing along. I’ve always been a little partial to the “oldies” as they say on the radio, but I grew up listening to all of it. Maybe I’m just a sucker for nostalgia. 

Pulling into my usual spot, ‘Oh, what a night,’ I sit for a second, contemplating whether I should run upstairs real quick or go into the bar. I probably should at least change. I’ve been in these clothes for almost twenty-four hours. 

As fast as I can, without busting my ass on the ice, I walk to the stairwell. It’s unfortunately not the most insulated, so I hustle upstairs; the first chilly days always catch you off guard.  The warmth hits me when I get into the apartment, my body letting out one last shiver, shaking the chill from outside off. 

After finding a clean button-up and switching into new pants, I feel like a new human. I take a few minutes to brush my teeth, spray myself with some cologne, and then make a cup of coffee. The warm drink on a cold day routine never misses. I scroll through my emails while waiting for my coffee to finish brewing before heading to the bar. 

The brisk air has me running down the stairs, fumbling with my keys to unlock the back door to the bar. I quickly turn the keys, hearing the heavy ‘clunk’ of the deadbolt flipping over. I scoot myself inside, pulling the door shut behind me while letting out another shiver. 

My body freezes when I hear sounds coming from the actual bar. Jesus Christ, NO. My heart rate spikes as I creep down the hallway, not wanting to give myself away. As if whoever or whatever is in here didn’t hear the door, you dumbass.  I still can’t see out into the bar, but the faint sounds are becoming much less muffled as I get closer.

“Fuck, what do we do?” 

“Just get dressed, baby. Go, go, go.” 

Is that Danny? I take a few more steps before finally seeing his tall figure standing shirtless near one of the end booths. He’s clearly buttoning his pants when I see a pair of smaller arms reach out behind him. Oh my god, Melody.  I watch as he fumbles around, trying to flip his shirt from inside out, when he turns around and locks eyes with me. I can see any ounce of life drain from his face from a mile away. 

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Still, it is realistically ten seconds before I spit out the only question I can manage to think of, “What the fuck is going on?” 

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“Jake, really, I’m so sorry,” Dan is about to plead his case now. 

Looking at him, I take a deep breath, knowing he genuinely feels terrible about this. “It’s fine,” I say, touching his arm. 

“I will just take the day to really clean the bar, I suppose,” letting the smile sneak onto my face to ease the tension. 

He lets a small laugh, “I’ll help since it’s my bad anyway.” 

“Oh god,” I let slip. That was supposed to be an inside thought, but here we are. 

“What?” 

I silently point to the camera behind the bar. I won’t lie: Watching the emotions cycle through his face wasn’t a little funny. Melody looked wide-eyed as the realization hit her as well. 

“Oh shit, oh my god,”  

“You quite literally helped me install them,” I let out an uncomfortable laugh, “I don’t know how you forgot.” 

He runs both hands over his face before finally asking, “Can we just.. delete that.. ALL of that..please?” His voice is coated in desperation as he keeps looking over at Melody.  

“I’m certainly not going to watch it, Danny.” Relief washes over him as if he really thought I would watch that.  

“Let’s agree to never bring this up.. again.. Ever?” I cock an eyebrow at him, taking a quick glance at Melody as well. She nods aggressively.  

“What are we never bringing up?” Sam’s sing-songy tone radiates through the bar. God damn it. 

Josh’s loud voice followed suit, “Oh, I love a good secret!” Of course, he came with Sam. 

“That is between you guys and Danny,” I put my hands up, “I have cleaning I need to get done.” I look over to Dan, trying not to laugh. The look on his face is screaming that he knows he’s screwed now that Josh is here. Everybody is about to know his little secret. 

“If you need to go for a little bit, do what you need to,” I lean in and whisper to Melody as I pass her. She gives me a thumbs-up and mouths, ‘Thank you,’ as I head down the hall. 

“Goodmorning, brother,” Josh’s voice comes from behind me as I grab some cleaning supplies from our storage closet. 

“I’m surprised you guys got here this early?” 

When I left the apartment, I didn’t think anybody would be moving for quite a while. The few of us in the living room, all sleeping on the makeshift bed we crafted with extra blankets and pillows. Sam dipped at some point in the night to Willa’s bed, what a party pooper. 

“I couldn’t fall back to sleep after you left, and I heard Sam moving around,” he tells me, “We figured you could use some help getting the bar situated after last night anyway.” Reaching out to take the broom and dustpan from me. 

Surprised that they wanted to help, I quickly said, “Oh, well, thanks bub.” Not that they didn’t usually help out if I asked, but it was a bit more dependent on me asking, which I’m candidly not great at doing. 

“So, what exactly needs to be cleaned?” Sam finally caves. 

I smile at him, knowing what he’s trying to do, “Let’s just say we’re taking the opportunity to really make sure everything is clean.” Grabbing a rag and some disinfectant to start wiping everything down. 

“Well,” he instigates further, “I just didn’t know if there was like a specific booth or something.” He unsuccessfully chokes back a laugh.

Josh quickly cut him off, “I’m sure he asked for specifics,” 

I bite my tongue so as not to laugh at the argument that will start. If there’s anything I know, it’s that these two can’t help but start shit with each other. 

“It was just a question, Josh.”

“You’re just picking at him for no reason. He said we’re cleaning everything, so just clean.”

“You know why we’re cleaning. That’s why you’re being defensive,” Sam says, his voice rising as he realizes. 

Josh gasps dramatically, “You DO listen to your girlfriend. Oh my god, I’m so proud of you!” 

“Oh, fuck off,” 

Josh laughed loud: “It doesn’t take much to figure out what happened, Samuel. Just use that little brain of yours for a minute, and maybe you’ll piece it together.” 

I sit in a booth to wipe the table down, just listening to them go back and forth. Josh isn’t wrong.. If he really did just stop to think about it, he would figure it out. Or, literally, just ask Danny. I never said he couldn’t ask him.

“I’m not that stupid, I know that-” Sam starts but immediately stops when he sees Danny walk back in. 

“What are we yelling about?”

“The two of them are bickering about why we’re cleaning,” I say plainly, with my eyebrows raised and a tight-lipped smile. 

His eyes widen, clearing his throat before saying, “Yeah, uh, people were a bit frantic last night trying to get out of here when the storm started, and we also didn’t want to get stuck too long, so we just.. didn’t have time to clean.” He couldn’t be worse at lying, but I think Sam will let it slide because of how uncomfortable he looks right now. 

“Now, why couldn’t you just say that?” Sam turns, looking back over at Josh. Jesus Christ, here we go. 

“Because that’s obviously not the reason, they clearly–” 

“Good morning, Krusty Krew!” Quinn sings through the bar, thank god. 

“Did we interrupt something?” Willa asks through a laugh. 

“Yes, thank you,” I speak before the other two can. 

It’s fun to watch as they both make their way over to their respective partners. Josh and Quinn always seem like they haven’t seen each other in years, even if it’s only been 20 minutes. The way they just curl into each other at any given moment. And then there’s Sam and Willa. Her laugh radiates through a room whenever Sam is around; they constantly pick on each other about something. He presses a kiss to the side of her head before she starts to walk away, but not before he swats at her ass, and she flips him off. She’s a saint for putting up with him. 

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I listened to everyone’s chatter until Josh and Sam started bickering again. I motion to Danny to say that I’m going outside for a minute before grabbing a cigarette from my office. Walking out the back door in the crisp air, I pull out my lighter and try to beat the wind. That first inhale is always the most rewarding. I told myself when I left the shipyard that I would cut back; the guys I worked with were heavy smokers, and it’s easy to fall into that trap. Now, I settle for one a day, and honestly, some days, I don’t bother; I find that when I’m stressed, I tend to go for it, but I’ve stuck to my guns and not gone back to smoking aggressively. 

I walk across the street, finding my usual spot to watch the boats slowly sail out to the ocean. I like to come here when I need a moment. I’m unsure why I’m feeling more anxious today than usual, but my chest feels heavy. Why do I feel so alone?

It’s not that I can’t be alone. I obviously have made it this long without someone; I have just spent the last two years watching everyone close to me find love. I never really feel lonely because they are all part of the family at this point, but I do have days where I can’t help but be almost..jealous. My mind keeps wandering as I take another drag. Is there something I’m doing that just makes me not worthy of dating? I’ve never understood why, out of all the dates I’ve been on in the last handful of years, none of them have worked out. God, I sound so pathetic.   

I enjoy the last moments of my smoke break, forcing myself to focus on the boat coming into the dock. I can’t seem bothered when I go inside, or they’ll notice. 

Finally, making my way back inside, I see Josh and Quinn in one booth and Sam with Willa in another. They don’t seem to notice that I’ve snuck back in, so I just spend some time cleaning up and organizing behind the bar while there’s nobody to actually tend to. 

I start mindlessly wiping down the wine glasses, trying to make them as clean as possible. Josh and Quinn are in my line of sight; it’s hard not to notice how in love they are. Always sitting on the same side of any table, whether it’s a booth or a typical table setting, they’re attached at the hip. They’re always touching. Whether it’s just sitting close enough, one of them can move their leg closer, or right now, where Quinn is just tracing their finger along his jawline and down the bridge of his nose. They lean in, pressing a kiss to his nose before he tugs them in quickly for a real kiss. This is dreadful. I really can’t remember the last time I kissed someone. Am I that touch starved that I’m jealous of my brother? The squeak from the glass reminds me where I am. I shake my head, putting it back in its place and grabbing a new glass. 

I glance over to the other booth; Willa has her head propped up in her hand as she looks at my brother. Even though they instigate each other most often, it’s always with love. She has a soft smile plastered on her face as she nods to whatever he’s saying. Running his hand down her forearm every so often, it’s weird seeing Sam so.. domestic? Willa really is perfect for him, though. I knew the moment she put him in his place while on a date with SOMEONE ELSE. How she looks at him like he’s the greatest thing ever created is incredibly sweet. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can see the way her eyes light up before she calls him ‘babe.’  I put the last glass back in place, tossing the towel under the bar. 

I think I have scrubbed every inch of this bar today, I think to myself, leaning into my hand. The music is lower since there’s nobody here, and everybody is currently preoccupied. I let my mind wander for a minute. 

The feeling of being so excited to see someone that your heart flutters. Being able to just hold someone close. God, getting to kiss them endlessly— nothing is better than that. Feeling them smile at you, ugh. Being so wrapped up in each other, pulling her into your lap so you can just have her as close as possible. Someone to call sweet things and have them call me ‘babe.’ Fuck me. I need a wife. Can I just skip to the being in love part? I don’t want to waste my time on girls who will just leave after a couple of months. I just want to fall helplessly in love and spend every day making sure they feel the same. 

“Jake?” Sam loudly says, waving his hand in front of me. 

My body jumps involuntarily, “For fucks sake.” 

“Good daydream, huh?” Josh teases. I fight the warm feeling creeping into my face, rolling my eyes subtly. 

“What do you guys want?” 

“Will you make us drinks, please?” Josh asks, trying to recover from his taunting. 

“Quinn and Willa too?” I double-check as I’m grabbing glasses. They both nod in sync. 

I kept letting out little sighs, which, to be fair, I didn’t think were that obvious. Turning and setting one of the drinks in front of them, my eyebrows pulled together. 

“Why do you look so angry?” Sam asks. 

“I’m not?” I quip back. Unfortunately, it didn’t come out as convincing as I would have liked. 

“I really think you just need to get laid or something, Jake,” Josh laughs out, “you need someone to take the edge off!” he laughs, nudging Sam with his elbow. You’re telling me. 

“When do I have the time, Josh? Come on,” I can’t help the attitude that comes out, but given the day I’ve had so far— getting harassed for not getting laid is not helping. 

“Honestly, you just seem tense lately,” Sam pipes up, “maybe if you actually flirted with one of the pretty girls who comes in, you could get off once in a while.” Josh barks out a laugh towards Sam, but I see Dan pointing in our direction as I listen to my personal peanut gallery giggle. 

Rolling my eyes at them as they keep egging each other on, “Trust me, I’d love for my wife to walk through those doors, but I don’t see that happening.” 

I turn to finish making drinks for the boys, trying to ignore them, squawking about my lack of sex life. As I set out a few glasses on the counter, I heard a lower, raspy female voice ring behind me, “Could I speak with Mr. Kiszka?” 

I turn around to a petite redhead dressed very professionally. Her button-up was a pale yellow, tucked into some grayish-blue slacks. Her hair curled perfectly, and her dark red lips stood out against her pale complexion.  

“Which one?” we all answer in unison. 

She flips open her folder, looking at whatever papers are in there, and I can’t seem to look away from her. She’s … so hot?  

“Um, Jacob Kiszka, I’m sorry.”

She looks up at me, making direct eye contact. Green. Her eyes are green.  

I manage to muster up the ability to ask, “What do you need from me, dear?” Dear? Am I ninety?  The sounds of my brother’s giggling prevented any level of silence between us. 

“Well, I’m sorry to do this to you randomly, Mr. Kiszka,” she says confidently; her voice is so pretty.“Mr. Kiszka is our father. Please call me Jake,”  I say, trying to lighten the mood as I extend my arm out to shake her hand across the bar. It feels like a small jolt to my heart as her hand firmly grabs mine, and she tells me, “Charlotte Rhodes.”

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Chapter Two

FDOG Masterpost | Masterlist | Prologue | FDOG Playlist

If you ask nicely, I may be so inclined to drop Chapter 2 sooner than next Thursday .. is all i'm going to say. 🤭

Taglist:

@gvfsstardust, @myleftsockck , @mindastreamofcolours , @dont-go-home-without-me , @literal-dead-leaf , @lizzys-sunflower , @mackalah , @klarxtr , @edgingthedarkness , @writingcold , @i-love-gvf , @takenbythemadness , @ladywhimsymoon , @earthgrlsreasy, @violet-hayes, @gretavanfan , @musicspeaks , @jazzyfigz , @smoking-jakelane , @anythingforjtk

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[cuecrynsleep]

Reconnecting the Past

Amangela | Reunion AU!

Chapter 15: Routinely Calls

Amanda and Angela start to fall into a routine with Amanda later texting Shayne about news.

Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a representation of those in Smosh, rather a fan made perspective on the characters they portray online. Remain respectful.

← Ch. 14 | Ch. 16 → | Masterlist

────────────────────

"Okay I am starting the car," Angela, all but announced the moment the call connected.

"Thank you for the play by play Angela," Amanda teased. "I really needed it."

"Well, I don't know what else to say," she uttered. Shuffling was heard over the speaker, a light beeping noise coming from Angela's car as she presumably reversed out of her driveway. "What are you up to, anyway? It's early."

"I'm doing my hair. I finished getting dressed and my makeup earlier." Amanda said, her phone set down on the sink counter as she brushed through her long hair a final time.

"What the?" Angela said. "You're already ready? Doesn't your thing start at like 9?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. Tommy and I will probably arrive early," Amanda shrugged. She gathered up her stuff, checking through her bag a final time. "I'm used to waking up early for this, so might as well."

"I think you're just insane," Angela commented. "I understand getting ready early, but you know you can just stay behind in your hotel and watch TV."

"It feels awkward to do when I have filming today," Amanda said, her phone to her ear and off speaker as she made her way to the elevator. "I like leaving stuff like that for after work."

There was a brief pause before Angela spoke. "Oh, I get that. I feel like it's easier to start doing stuff like that in your downtime once you have a better work and personal life balance."

"True," Amanda commented. "I'll be better at it once I'm back in California."

"Sometimes I forget you do still live there," Angela admitted. "Like we started talking again and then suddenly you're in Canada."

Amanda texted Tommy as another person entered the elevator, she shuffled deeper into the corner, her voice softer as she spoke. "Well I'm bound to be back there within July," she paused. "Hopefully."

"Tell your work they suck at scheduling," Angela teased.

"Trust me, they know."

"How's filming nowadays?" Angela asked.

Amanda couldn't stop herself from sighing. "It's fine all things considered." She ended up leaving it at that, waiting for Angela to either comment or change the topic.

"Jesus Christ," Angela mumbled, her voice still clearly heard despite that not being her intention. "There's way too many cars here."

"You're driving in LA, Ange. That's a given." Amanda replied, as she navigated her way through a busy hotel lobby. She initially planned on waiting in one of the chairs but based on the multiple people checking in and out, she decided to cut her losses.

There was another pause, a brief car honk heard in the background. "Are you outside already?" Angela asked. "You really want to get there early."

"Oh, quiet," Amanda rolled her eyes. "What are you up to nowadays?"

"Well, you know, filming for the second short film and the improv group. The usual," Angela said. "I am getting closer to the people in the improv group though, so I'm happy for that."

"I'm glad, it's always good to make friends or at least colleagues in stuff like that."

As minutes passed by Amanda waited for Tommy to join her out in the front. The uber already ordered for the two five minutes ago. Throughout the call Angela ended up rambling about this one improv scene she absolutely loved doing. As Amanda listened, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into an uncontrollable smile. She sucked her lips into her teeth, simply enjoying the moment.

There was just something about listening to Angela ramble about something she loved that was comforting. Her glances at the road waiting for the Uber to arrive becoming less frequent. As she let herself be lulled into a story about an admittedly funny scene, she failed to notice the door opening and the approaching footsteps.

"Who has you smiling at your phone like that?" Amanda heard Tommy's teasing voice, a hand on her shoulder bringing her back to the present.

"Oh my god!" Amanda practically yelped, unintentionally interrupting Angela. She turned towards Tommy immediately. "I did not see you coming."

Tommy chuckled. "Yeah," he said. "I can see that."

Angela's voice is quietly heard over the phone. Amanda isn't even sure if Tommy can hear her. "Amanda? You good? Mandy?"

"So," Tommy said, he pointed to her phone. "A friend? Boyfriend? Hookup?"

"The first one," Amanda said, just about to reply to Angela.

"You'll be busy soon. I'm going to be hanging up now." Another quiet shuffle is heard. "Good luck in filming."

Angela left the call, Amanda being left by herself before she clicked off. "Well, I was going to introduce you two, but guess not." She checked the time, failing to realize how much time had passed. "Then again she does have to get to filming soon.”

[saltwaterburns]

Hey! If it’s alright, may I request Lockwood and co x reader (platonic) where they comfort reader after finding out their partner cheated on them with a close friend?

intertwined, sewn together - lockwood & co.

This is so extremely late and I'm so sorry but this whole thing just, clicked today. I also included Holly from the books, I hope that's okay!! You can switch her and Lucy's places, though, it's not relevant to the plot. This one is short, but hopefully enough 🤍

Small sobs are wrecking your body as you hurry down the road, the soft pitter patter sound of raindrops falling down around you echoing throughout the entire street. The weather is gloomy, the entire sky painted almost black with the hues of dark blue clouds, the rumble of oncoming thunder heard in the distance. You suppose it's slightly funny that mother nature is keen upon showing off your inner turmoil to other people like this, because it's almost a picture perfect copy of how you feel.

How could you have been so stupid? You knew it was a bad idea to date someone, taking your current occupation into consideration. It was even worse of an idea when that someone was a bloody Fittes agent. But you decided to make an exception, to finally cave and try something new, something exhilarating. You really thought you could make it work with him, oblivious to the little white lies his mouth was spewing the whole time you were together about how he'd treat you like you were the loveliest girl on the planet. Yet here you are, tears shining on your red and blotchy cheeks after seeing him with his tongue stuck down another agents throat. Its not her fault, of course. At least you hope. You're praying that he hadnt told that girl anything, that she had no idea about your existence. You really dont want to hate her. You've seen her around the archives sometimes when you're tagging along with George to work on some research. She was always the only one to send a kind smile your way, often times making the tips of George's ears turn pink.

You turn around the corner and as Portland Row comes into your line of sight, the tight grip on your heart starts loosening. Home. You quicken your step and just when you reach the threshold to the house, it starts pouring down behind you. The streets quickly become flooded and you smile weakly in victory for making it there before getting soaked, messing around with the doorknob a bit before managing to somehow get it to open.

You let the door slam shut behind you and the gut wrenching feelings return now that you managed to arrive at home. Soft glow is emitting from the kitchen alongside gentle muffled laughter you manage to pick up and the melancholy feeling makes your eyes well up again.

"Y/N? Are you back already?" Someone asks. It snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up, quickly wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. Holly is standing before you, her head tilted to the side in confusion, then worry. "Have you been crying?"

You shake your head frantically, not trusting yourself with the task of speaking. You're pretty sure nothing but a sob would leave your mouth right now. But Holly knows, Holly always knows. She opens her arms and pulls you into her warm embrace and for a moment you feel like a kid who has scraped her knee and is now crying silently in the arms of her mother. She sits down with her back leant against the wall and pulls you down alongside her, her hands not once leaving yours. You sit beside her and your head rests on her shoulder, her arm wrapped around you. Not a word is spoken, but her presence feels like a snug, homemade blanket smelling of cinnamon buns. Even if they're low carb.

Two presences join you. Its one for all and all for one, after all. George and Lockwood situate themselves down on either side of you and Holly. A moment of silence passes, and then Lockwood breaks. "I knew it. I knew he would end up being a slimy git. What else can you expect from Fittes agents these days. I'll hunt him down, I swear. He will regret the day he messed with an asset of Lockwood & Co."

The sudden outburst makes a small flame of joy spark in your chest and before you know it, you giggle. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, but then Holly also giggles and before you know it, you're a heap of laughing mess on the floor with George and Lockwood snickering beside you as well.

"I could steal something from Fittes again and blame it on him?" George offers, brushing it off as a mere joke when Holly looks up at him bewilderedly. You laugh again, your stomach cramping at the action and thank him, whispering that you'll think about it when Holly is distracted by noticing that Lucy is approaching, waving her over. Lucy sits down in front of you, offering you a doughnut from a big plate. You grab one (chocolate filling, your favourite) and thank her with a little smile. She smiles back and takes your hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm here for you, babe, always. We all are. That prick wouldn't recognise a good thing even if it hit him in the face," she says, rolling her eyes. Everyone is keen to agree, starting to list things wrong with the man. You're glad that they haven't forced you talk about what went down, the ache of it still very real inside your heart. You would tell them, eventually. For the safety of the bloke. He should've thought about having bloodthirsty agents after him before sticking his tongue down her throat.

You lean back into Holly's side, her arm sneaking around you. All of them are laughing and excitedly conversing with each other but you're glad to stay out of it for now, doing your best to memorise this moment so you can revisit it when the feelings become too much. Your friends are the things you hold closest to your heart, you're sure of it now.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Too Fine Too Be Normal

@lexosaurus @hannahmanderr @zombiemerlin

When outsiders have to deal with any member of the weirdo trio it really is best to just roll with the punches. Plus, Orson actually LIKES his techy internet buddy; so what if he’s some kind of superhero pharaoh or something?

Orson blinks at his screen, not for the first time feeling confused and baffled over TooFine’s chat comments.

TooFine: brb gotta go eat a bat, nightshade found the plant paint I covered her fruit tree in

He’s assuming what the guy means is that ‘nightshade’, TooFine’s friend, is trying to hit him with a baseball bat. Strange and extreme but at least this time he’s not claiming to have ‘accidentally fallen into another dimension’. Whenever TooFine leaves suddenly it’s always wildy outlandish stories. Certainly there’s no way he thinks Orson actually believes them right? Yes it was very funny anyways. Reading TF’s impressive imagination always made him feel a little better about life, like even if your life is simple and plain you can bring some crazy into it with your mind.

Sometimes though, it’s clear he’s actually telling the truth, like that one time they were on voice chat and Orson dad popped in to try and convince him to let him teach him how to hunt again, Orson liked meat but he had zero desire to actually go and kill things. But TF started talking guns too, apparently that thing about TF’s in person friend having parents who made weapons was very much true. TF impressed Orson’s dad, meaning his dad now approved of the friendship. At least TF didn’t bring up that ‘ectoplasm’ stuff while his dad was around, the last thing Orson wanted was his dad thinking all his online friends were crazy too. His dad definitely didn’t believe the claim that TF’s friends parents also had a modified military vehicle they used on the actual road; something about how military treads can’t be used on roads because they’re too damaging. TF followed that up with ‘our roads can withstand some pretty heavy artillery’, Orson’s chuckle and eye roll probably convinced his dad that TF was screwing around with him a little.

Either way, hopefully TF gets back in time to keep helping him with this stupid drone he’s trying to build. He’d love to be able to go get the mail without having to actually go outside, so much wasted effort when he’d rather be gaming or reading. Then he gets a voice chat request, the voice that comes through is not TF’s

“Oh shit hey, you actually picked up, wow I can’t believe he made an outsider friend. Weird”, this new teen clears his throat, “okay so, Nightshade actually might have knocked him out in a fit of rage? So he’ll be a bit- hey! No! Put that down! You don’t get to hit him again just because I’m protecting his PDA!”.

TF actually used a PDA? Such old tech? Why? Weird.

“Emilie is PINK! PINK!”.

The boy teen groans, “ugh. Goths. Anyway, while he’s out, he give you any ideas for a good birthday gift? I’ve been banned from giving him weapons or explosives, and the last time I got him a souped up hard drive he hacked the federal government and filed the presidents taxes for some insane reason”.

Orson blinks, “I think he’s been talking a lot about electric cars and electric bikes? What happened after he… did the presidents taxes?”. He really just wants to know where this guy was going to take that level of bullshit.

“I’d rather ideas that don’t require me to steal my rich arch enemy uncles credit card. And eh, nothing much, just got abducted by some secret service folks up into the Appalachian mountains for some ‘one on one’ talks time. He got some new wicked scars out of it even, one looks like a hockey stick! I don’t even have one like that yet! But hey, what’s life without a few abductions here and there? The gov loves shooting me!”.

Orson makes a face, alright so were TF’s friends just as bad as him? Shaking his head, “get him a lock picking kit then, in case anyone abducts him with handcuffs or something”. What the actual hell? He absolutely has to google this.

“Oh that’s not bad-oh hey buddy! You good? No lumps and bumps? No booboos or owies?”.

“You jerk, I’m fine. Why is she still armed!”.

“Emile. Is. PINK”.

“It suits her!”.

“She’s a black apple tree! Pink is never her colour!”.

Oh so the goth did actually name her plants, odd but not insane. And yeah, a hacker did actually do the presidents taxes… weird. There’s no way that was actually TF right? Was he friends with an actual hacker?

“Oh T I totally voice called, or whatever, your online buddy? It seemed like the chat was recent and shit so you know”.

“Man, you are way too overprotective and way too much of a mother hen for a dead guy. Gimme that”.

“Hey at least dead hens can shoot laser beams out of their mouths, way cooler than living ones”.

TF clearly has his… PDA back, “you’re still working on that ‘let me be lazy’ drone right?”.

Orson blinks, “yes, but real talk, did you actually file the presidents taxes?”.

“Oh my zone! DP you shit head! Ugh, look the guy was trying to embezzle my towns funding to buy another yacht, so I figured hey why not forcibly report all his off shore accounts and that weird charity donation to a Russian network. I also might have gone after all his staff too? They weren’t impressed but I call anarchy and how was I supposed to know his people would actually not suck at tracking people?”.

“T, dude, I’m pretty sure the federal government and the goddamn president have better tracking than those G.I.W. morons”.

“Are you going to fix Emilie or what!”.

“Never”.

Orson flips through google results a little more and yeah, a ton of people got hacked for taxes… Hell Orson even stumbles on a whistle blower data leak about ties to Russia that he nopes out of real quick. “TF bud, that’s super concerning”.

“Heh. Fair enough and- oh shit!”. There’s an actual explosion over the line. “Hey, you wanna actually witness shit for a change, because good goddamn. DP! Have you been skipping sleep again! Why is the goddamn sleep god throwing a building at us!”.

What.

You know what.

Fuck it.

Orson sends the zoom invite, it’s accepted immediately. It’s actual pure chaos. There’s shouting, what looks like a sentient star cover blank wearing a mask in the sky, a glowing black and white teen throwing actual everything forbid bath bombs at the thing in the sky. TF looks like he’s from freaking ancient Egypt, with a helm on and everything. Then a bunch of glowing vines shove TF out of screen, a girl in a green and black body suit with a freaking cape chasing after.

For a second he’s wondering if TF is playing a massive prank on him and somehow created a hyper realistic superhero show set up. The… PDA is pointed up at the sky as the voice of the guy who started the voice chat shouts, “I HAVE MIDTERMS! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!”.

The blanket creature shouting back, “SLEEP!”.

“Oh yeah I guess I should have seen that one coming”.

Okay so. TF’s friend, whose parents make weapons, is a superhero or something? Google to the rescue.

TF shouts, “why are you stabbing me! There’s a god in the sky! Fight him!”.

“Naw, UnderGrowth actually likes Nocturne, since sleeping humans aren’t actively polluting Mother Nature”.

“Fuck that stupid grass stain”.

“I’m going to end you”.

Orson blinks at his phone, DP, Danny Phantom. A real person, in a real town, that looked like a real superhero. It’s that rumoured haunted town actually, a real haunted town. What the actual hell? Is he friends with a superhero or sidekick? Who’s also a hacker? And eats a concerning amount of meat without getting sick somehow? Has all the stories he’s been getting, and not reacting strongly too, been real??? Alright, okay, gotta play it cool self. He probably actually thought Orson was taking him seriously and has decided that Orson passed some kind of weirdness meter test. This was basically almost an identity reveal wasn’t it? Holy crap he’s involved in a real life comic book secret identity reveal.

The ‘Nocturne’ guy gets blasted into a wall, DP pelting It with eggs he got from somewhere. The Nocturne holding up a massive canister over Its head, “YOU WILL FAIL IF YOU DO NOT SLEEP!”.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit”, TF comes sorta back on screen, grabbing up his PDA, the ‘facial markings’ don’t look like make up, it looks like it’s part of his skin. “Okay okay, so that right up there is a massive thing of halothane vapour from the looks of it, fun. So we’re all probably gonna pass out here, feel free to disconnect if shit gets boring”.

Orson squeaks a little, “boring? You get up to some insane shit. Why is a… sleep god? Trying to knock y’all out?”. Roll with the punches, gotta roll with the punches. Freak out later.

TF snickers, “DP doesn’t get enough sleep and has been frustrating this ghost since he formed. God’s am I right? Ha!”.

“Get back here you!”.

“Oh for crying out loud! I’ll fix your freaking plant okay! Ugh!”. TF gets smacked into a wall all by the plant girl anyways.

Orson eyes the parts of his drone before looking back to the screen, “why are you helping a random friend you made, build a drone when this crap is going on?”. Because it seriously has to be asked.

TF uses sand to push himself out of the wall rubble, “eh, normalicy is nice and shit, plus you’re impressively chill. I bring up sneaking into a death gods liquor cabinet and you just give me a ‘that’s nice, have fun. Don’t hospitalise yourself’. Sure, Red’s chill but she’s more DP’s friend”, smirking, “and his ex, plus she rides a hoverboard and shoots ghosts so…”.

Oh okay, so there’s a fourth one. This is completely insane. Whelp. Guess he’s in it now though. Orson shrugging, “I’ve always been a pretty laid back guy, though this is definitely the craziest thing I’ve seen. Way worse than that chic on drugs or something who was trying to bite people”.

“Oh yeah drugs are bad, way worse than hacking regardless what the government has to say about it”.

Then the canister explodes, giving Orson a serious anxiety spike as bits of metal impale in things and gas starts going everywhere. DP actually does a comedic salute in the air before just falling to the ground. The Nocturne guy looks very pleased with Itself and actually wraps around the probably unconscious teen, hissing at the plant girl when she tries to approach.

TF cringing, “stupid obsessive ghosts. DP looks like he’s been bent like a shrimp”, TF moving his PDA camera and yeah the black and white teens position is kinda shrimp like.

All Orson can think to say is, “great, now I’m hungry”.

TF laughing while hurling a fist full of sand, “HA! Yeah sushi would be great right now”.

“You disgust me”.

“NONE SHALL DISTURB HIS SLUMBER!”.

Was it normal for ‘villains’ to seemingly baby heroes? Because that’s what this looks like. Nocturne literally just wants the black and white teen to sleep, that’s it. Weird. And then freaking pillow monsters??? Start storming the screen, TF and Nightshade/plant girl doing battle with them. The zoom gets cut out so Orson is just going to assume the device got broke.

…

Okay.

So.

That happened.

One question, well many really, but why is someone so tech focused going with a freaking Egyptian theme? Nightshade made sense, he’s pretty sure even her ‘code name’ is actually a plant. And DP was, well, a literal ghost so the Phantom name made sense. Weird that ghosts were actually real still. Yes he’s seen some stuff about them on the news occasionally but it still seemed so far fetched. And he’s pretty sure he saw some people dressed up as DP at last years comic con.

Weird.

Very weird.

Well. Nothing for it now. So he sends TF a message asking if he’s good. It takes multiple hours but….

TooFine: we’re good, DP’s still out cold and has been abducted into a sleep gods lair but like, we good. Sleepy Blanket won’t try to skin him like some people.

OriOri: that’s good? I mean, his skin would probably make a poor blanket?

TooFine: HA! Thats the kinda joke DP would make! He’ll be proud

TooFine: he’ll be proud whenever he wakes up

TooFine: and when Sleepy Blanket stops acting like a crazy dragon protecting its horde

TooFine: and when he finds his way back to the land of living

OriOri: it’ll be a while

TooFine: good. He really should sleep more

TooFine: the dumbass

OriOri: if he gets so little his pissed off god then yeah. That’s impressive actually

TooFine: you have no idea. Anyways, tots sorry for dipping on your little project. I’d offer Techy’s services as make up but he’s an idiot with newer tech

Orson has no clue who that is and isn’t going to ask.

OriOri: at this point I’m more curious why the heck you went with an Egyptian theme for a guy who hacks the federal gov and makes visual horror games

TooFine: eh, it would be kinda weird if a reincarnated pharaoh wasn’t Egyptian themed, you know how it is. Technically you don’t but you know you know

Orson sighs, this was so weird. But he is so not going to let on that he never believe the shit TF said.

OriOri: I guess? Now do you know how to better connect female usb c to an hdmi, cause it’s pissing me off

TooFine: *snort*

TooFine: but of course I do. Debendint on how far you need the connection to work you might have to bike something from scratch. I tots got blueprints and they are definitely not stolen from the fbi terror investigations unit. Definitely not.

Orson was probably going to get arrested one day because of this, but screw it, TF was fun to talk too and made his mostly boring life more interesting. Not interesting enough to ever consider moving to the guys nightmare town though. Not a chance in Hell.

End.

Prompts: Tucker fucked up. Hard. But it’s like, how the hell was he supposed to know that hacking the federal government was a bad idea? Nocturne takes a liking to Danny and decides to help teach him a lesson, whether Danny wants it or not. Outsider POV. Tucker makes a new online acquaintance, and will casually allude to the crazy shit he and his friends get up to while ghost hunting. The new acquaintance thinks Tucker is just embellishing the truth, until…

[jeonqkooks]

jen dearest 🤍 i got myself some time during my lunch break to reply to you ; u ; but how exciting that you had a great time back at home and seeing all the people you missed the last little while. i know the feeling you described, almost... a mix of guilt and grief for "visiting" home and not staying home, for "leaving behind" the ones who probably want you by their side the most. i feel that way every time i see my grandparents, and they are only a couple cities over from me... i cannot imagine that sort of strain on your heartstrings after hopping on the plane 🥺 but although that feeling doesn't really get any better, life does get bigger — so in comparison to the last time, hopefully your visits home become easier to carry with experience. (did you try bánh canh like we last discussed 😂?)

those resolutions — or at least, aspirations to set forth this year! — sound perfectly reasonable to me ☺️ i hope you get to achieve them, or even an inkling of all, so you can full power experience them later! as for me — i may tap back into writing, but for original characters of my own; maybe even poetry? how fun would that be hehe i'm also looking to move along with work — things have been going well in my role, and my team definitely trusts me with managing the office — but the company itself and the compensation is next to nothing, sadly. but cheers to see where our professional roads lead ^^~ any new country in particular you're looking to come to?

my love and i are still going strong 🥰 it will be 7 years together in february! things have been sort of picking up a notch — we've discussed engagement/marriage to our families and it makes me feel so funny because!!! i!!! am!!! baby!!! (see: turning 28 later this year, my goodness 😨) who knows what will happen by this year but if things happen... i'll be sure to tell you 🤍

i'm so dearly content that you found that passion and rhythm again to write; especially almost every day! how absolutely exciting ; u ; ! when the muse has been locked in, it's hard to let go in the original rush of it all... may you enjoy the ride as it continues on hehe either way, i certainly hope the stay fandom has been treating you kindly and have become a safe place for you to travel to often. you only deserve the utmost best, after all.

until next time, sweetheart~

write soon. thương thương with all my heart,

cee 🤍

yeah it’s very bittersweet 🫠 i do still get emo sometimes thinking about it. yesterday i just sat down on the couch and stared at nothing for like 15 minutes after i looked at something i brought back from home. but yeah since i’m gonna try to come visit more often, hopefully the withdrawal won’t be as bad as this time 😔

bánh canh completely slipped my mind !! 😭 there’s actually quite a few things that i didn’t get to eat even though i was trying to tick everything off my list lol. from now on i’ll have to try and be more productive whenever i go back 😂

oh writing !! i hope you find the time and enjoyment in writing again. i miss your writing (and maybe!jk) sm :(( but i know that whatever it may be, poetry or your own oc’s, you’re gonna be amazing

i’m so glad that work is going well for you. and love !! that’s exciting news !! for now i can only hope that you two are as happy as can be. but fingers crossed for more wonderful news in the future <3 :’)

i’m planning to go to nyc later this year for a trip - maybe september, we’re still thinking - so i might be in the same timezone as you !!

thank you !! day by day i feel better about writing since the new muse has come into my life. getting back in touch with creativity again has really brightened up my life and it’s honestly kinda silly how much a good fandom experience can make me so happy lol. i hope that side of tumblr will continue to be as good as now for as long as possible bc it’s really been bringing me so much joy :’)

i always look forward to your messages. thank you for checking in, boo <3 happy tết in advance !! love you always, thương thương 🤍

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled

[acozysoulwrites]

The daisy bouquet

Description: Daryl picks flowers for reader while he is out one day. Spoilers for season 9. No warnings!

Daryl was never one to look at flowers. Not until the end of the world anyway. He had never really realized how many there actually were. He remembered his mom liked roses though. Maybe that was why he avoided them. He could only remember his mom by the smell of roses and harsh words.

"Hey Daryl when are we going to go out west?" She asks, her blue and grey eyes trailing over him from where she stood at the edge of the creek.

De squints up at her through sunlight and dirty brown hair.

"One day, jus'..." He trails off. He knows she wasn't trying to bring it up but every time he thinks he can leave he is reminded of Rick. All he wants is to find a body at least. So he knows.

"I know..." She trails off before stumbling over a clump of mud, still following him closely. "Hey... We'll find him".

He grunts. She can't promise that. He can't even promise himself that. It pisses him off. How did he manage to get into a fight with is best friend on the same day he had to lose him. It wasn't fair.

"Hey, there's a patch of daisies over there, I'm going to try to get some for Michonne" She stammers, stumbling over a few rocks in the shallow water as she crosses.

Daryl watches as she spreads her arms out to balance in the shallow rush of water as it loosens her footing. They were just flowers, but maybe it was a nice thing to do. He never understood the gift after someone had lost a loved one. Flowers would just die in a few days. Still, he learned something new everyday... and they weren't too bad looking. Maybe his favorite flowers were daisies.

He furrows his brows at himself. She's turning him soft.

"Get em then... let's go back" He grunts and turns to climb back up the little bank.

~

A few days had passed and neither of them had found a single thing that left any idea where Rick had gone. Daryl would never tell anyone but his chest seemed to ache more every day that he was reminded of him. He would never admit it, but somewhere deep down he loved Rick like he couldn't ever love Merle.

Sunlight blinds Daryl as he pushes through the low hanging branches. He's out alone today. It's better that way sometimes, he can focus on his own thoughts without having to be present in a conversation with Aaron or Carol that he knew meant more to them than himself.

It was different when she came out though. He didn't mind listening to her ramble about poetry or flowers or childhood stories.

~

A few hours later Daryl finds that he's made a giant circle.

"Dammit" He scolds, once again being stuck in his stupid thoughts had given him grief.

He looks around and realized he's back where she had picked those daisies the other day. Funny how things work.

Daryl looks around before crossing the creek to the little patch of daisies. They are still here, a little damaged from the rain they had gotten yesterday evening, but they would do.

He picks a few, enough to make a bouquet anyways, and carefully takes them back to the other side where he follows the trail back to the main road. Just a few hundred feet his bike would be waiting for him, hidden carefully underneath some brush and bramble. Hopefully he had a string or something on it.

Nearing his bike, he carefully places the daisies down on the gravel road just out of the grass. All thoughts he had before are now gone. Funny how simple flowers can clear an overthinking mind faster than anything else seemed to work. Though he's pretty sure it's why he got the flowers that he's suddenly a one track mind.

Looking through his mini tool box he keeps tied to the center of his bike with a few small ropes, he digs around until he finds a bit of fishing twine. Carefully, he goes to pick the daisies up and he ties it around their stems.

There. Now they wouldn't blow away.

Daryl tucks them into his pocket before driving back towards home. It's only on the way home that he realizes how soft and sensitive he must have looked while being so damn protective over some flowers.

~

"Welcome back, pookie!"

Daryl shoots a glare up at Carol who's grinning ear to ear, a 22 hugged tightly in her arms. Better not shoot a snide comment back.

"Hi" He grumbles, his hand touching one of the daisies in his pocket.

He's about to continue walking when it hits him that these are probably wilting. He should find her quickly.

"Hey, have ya seen y/n?"

Carol smiles to herself.

"Yeah, she should be on her front porch reading like usual" Carol says.

"Thanks"

"Good luck" Carol chuckles and he groans.

Daryl walks towards her house. His stomach feels shitty and his throat feels like he's gotten stung by a bee and he's allergic or something.

"Daryl! Hey!"

Of course she's already spotted him. Leave it to her to call out his name the very second she lays eyes on him. She never failed to make him wonder how long she had seen him before he'd spotted her.

"Hey" he give a little wave.

"I thought I was gonna go out with ya today" She says and he now sees the hurt on her face.

Shit.

"Yeah, uhm, I needed some time to think" He says, walking up onto the porch.

She sets her book down and looks at him. He can feel her studying his face.

"Uh, I got ya these" Daryl mumbles, pulling the little bouquet of limp daises from his pocket.

Her eyes flicker down and then back to him as she takes them from his outstretched hand.

"Awww! Dare, I love em..."

"They aren't that pretty anymore"

"Nonsense, ill just put them in water. Gimme a second"

And with that, she shoots him a soft smile before running into the house.

Daryl shuffles in his position awkwardly. Was it a good thing to do? You didn't just give someone flowers when they lost someone right? He hated that he was so damn bad with these things.

"There! They will perk up nicely. I added some sugar into the water" She says, plopping herself back down onto the porch swing.

He doesn't know what to say or where to go with this thing now so he stays quiet.

"Carol and I were going to make a nice dinner for a few friends. Aaron and Tara so far. You wanna help? I can always start early, she would understand"

"Yeah, sure" he hums, eyes still locked on her hands as they rest in her lap.

They'd be nice to hold.

"Alright. But you're making the sweet tea. Last time you did I about cried it tasted just like what I used to drink on hot summer days when my mom made it" She chuckles.

His heart flutters and he feels all warm and fuzzy again. This damn girl would surly be the only reason he ever felt happy and he was more than okay with that.

[inventors-fair]

Word on the Street: P&C Runners-up ~

Our runners-up this week are @curiooftheheart​, @deg99, and @shakeszx!

@curiooftheheart​ — Traumatic Flashbacks

Honestly, this is one of those times where the art direction might be a little too much, or at least it would have to be done in a specific way, because wow, this name is on the nose. Good incorporation, though, I like it. The madness is an interesting touch; I wonder what UB Madness would look like as an archetype somewhere? It was done...kind of in SOI but Madness was kind of available everywhere because of delirium and whatnot. No matter, still a lot of fun things to take into account. This having to be pretty much a one-of because it’s kinda impossible to recur for value is a bit of an interesting choice, actually. I wonder what the rest of the set would look like.

And you know what, because there needs to be a second paragraph, I think that the only part that could have potentially edged this up into a winner’s seat would have been either a super-strong line of flavor text or a super-strong art direction. Aside from that, I mean, no notes, it’s clean and it’s interesting. Perhaps the name being so on-the-nose with a contemporary notion is what could guide it towards the viewer (or, I mean, me the judge) asking about the more specific side of things. Specificities drive intrigue. You feel me?

@deg99 — Spectacle Fighter

Spectacle and Fight, heh, I feel you. Clever clever clever. Now, I wanna go over the good of this card, and that’s that you really put the brakes where the needed to go. Like, good lord, in some kind of right Commander build, this card is busted open like a fault line, but in a draft environment, when you pull this you better believe you’re getting value out of it. It’s gonna make them bleed, or at least it better if it’s gonna perform. I love the trample here and how much that impacts the board. The art’s a little squished for me, personally, but you mentioned how you like it, and you know what? This character’s got character for me. They’re a pugilist, they’re gonna smack down. I feel what you want to convey.

Elephant in the room time: “create a X treasure tokens.” As I mentioned in the winners, gotta capitalize Treasures in rules text, and that little grammatical issue is one of those bop-you-on-the-noggin-with-a-newspaper moments that’s less of a genuine critique and more of a jocular reminder to proofread. The card’s strong and impactful and I wonder if that’s actually biasing me a little towards cards that stand out on their own in these contests sometimes. I’mma have to consider that for the next contest. Still, no matter. We’ve got a whole long road ahead, filled with fists, and hopefully less grammatical errors.

@shakeszx — Spell Mastery

“...okay, here’s what I’ll say about that card, here’s my critique there, here’s some wording there, here’s—wait. That’s really funny.” And so, my thought process brought me back to this card, because it really IS kind of funny! Not necessarily the flavor text, but the card itself. It’s perfect little gem that makes me wonder if it can be infinite’d. Hm... It would take a little bit, but I think that this plus Inexorable Tide shenanigans would be absolutely delightful, as the Tide always is. As a limited card, I’m certain that it would shape gameplay, and also that it would be absolutely unplayable. It’s so neat, though, and hell yeah cantrip central! In constructed formats, though... I wonder if UB Storm brews would have fun with it. Getting to basically copy every fourth spell with cantrip after cantrip would add a touch more consistency. T1, land, T2, Baral, T3, this, T4, more guaranteed win. Hm! Curious.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The flavor text is a bit of a sticking point for me, honestly. I don’t think that the goblins of Ravnica are necessarily smart, but they’re smarter than most, and they’ve displayed the ability to write accurately like on GRN’s Goblin Electromancer and in general, they’re a bit more scientific, even when they’re doing dumb stuff. Why make a boom? Izzet mages are better than that! Or at least, that’s how I feel about how this card should have angled; I’m not sure what the point is of turning them into pretty generic goblin-y things, y’know? Still, the card’s fun, and the flavor text is still fun in its own way. Count that for what you wanna.

Commentary up as soon as I’m done with it! @abelzumi​

[dameronology]

welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful.  (for @what-the--curtains​ - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week. 

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal. 

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing. 

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago. 

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back. 

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting. 

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you. 

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’ 

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered. 

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’ 

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage. 

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase. 

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back. 

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged. 

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck. 

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable. 

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic. 

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised. 

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’ 

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole. 

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic. 

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go. 

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain. 

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move. 

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded. 

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that. 

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even.  He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway. 

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you. 

‘N-nothing.’ You replied.  ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off. 

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted. 

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign. 

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him. 

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’ 

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that. 

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him. 

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead. 

--

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes. 

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle. 

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject. 

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother. 

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided. 

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded. 

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage. 

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least. 

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’ 

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart.  Were they really ex-military? 

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’ 

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded. 

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied. 

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was. 

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital. 

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left. 

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on. 

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked. 

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’ 

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture. 

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them. 

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’ 

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either 

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance. 

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. 

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met. 

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied. 

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured. 

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. 

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane. 

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there. 

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’ 

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’ 

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled. 

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time. 

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI. 

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat. 

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it. 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible. 

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep. 

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world. 

---

Time passed. 

It passed quickly and slowly all at once. 

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home. 

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone. 

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream. 

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave. 

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too. 

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders. 

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle. 

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered. 

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned. 

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something. 

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned. 

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm. 

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person. 

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ 

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled. 

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension. 

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that? 

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked. 

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed. 

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped. 

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it. 

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes. 

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up. 

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew. 

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked. 

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’  She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute. 

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked. 

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’ 

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth. 

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’ 

--

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air. 

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities? 

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked. 

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’ 

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured. 

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met. 

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said. 

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself. 

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another. 

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him. 

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once. 

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’ 

‘You did?’ You murmured. 

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling. 

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic. 

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

[favefandomimagines]

Soul Surfer (j.m.)

Summary: JJ’s surfing idol moves to town and that happens to include his daughter.

AN: here it is!!!! i’m posting it early in celebration of hitting 900 followers! there are 900+ of you who are reading my stuff like that’s insane to me!!

Part 2 of soul surfer will be up hopefully by Tuesday! Wednesday at the latest!

Tag list: @outerbxmalia @hockeyschmockey @allie-mcginn @prejudic3 @sexualparkour @k-k0129 @iamaunicorn4704 @milamaybank @jj-maybabe @divcrdown @sweetwatermelonsugar @alexa-playafricabytoto @aaleksmorozova @fandom-phaser @lulbabes @princessmugglecup @infinityspacesuniverse @teamnick @frankiebcanon @srirachabi @starxdame @holadrxrry @drizzlethatfalls

JJ, Pope and John B were on their way to The Wreck to annoy Kie at work. It was customary, almost traditional, to stop by the restaurant to bother their friend while she was working.

When John B parked in front, they noticed a similar van next to theirs with Hawaii license plates, that read ‘HANG LOOSE.’ JJ also couldn’t help but admire the two surfboards strapped to the roof.

“Who in their right mind would want to leave Hawaii for the Outer Banks?” Pope asked. “I don’t know but whoever it is must be a killer surfer. Look at these boards, they’re the best money can get right now.” JJ added.

“Don’t get any ideas, J.” John B said, pulling his friend along. “What? I wasn’t going to steal them.” JJ rebutted.

The three teenage boys walked into the building and looked around for Kie. “Guys!” Kie practically yelled, appearing behind them. “You will never believe who’s here right now.” She added.

“Who?” John B asked. But before Kie could answer his question, JJ grabbed ahold of him. “Holy shit. That’s Rob Elliot. He’s a surf legend. I’ve been watching him since I was 10.” He exclaimed, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “No way. What is he doing here?” Pope asked. “That must be who’s van we saw outside.” John B said.

The four friends watched the famous surfer when JJ saw the girl sitting next to the man. The brunette girl, with blue eyes who radiated everything he found perfect. He was probably being creepy but he couldn’t find himself being able to look away from her. Especially when her father said something to make her laugh. Seeing her smile did something to JJ he couldn’t really explain.

And he didn’t go unnoticed by her. Her eyes went to him the second he stepped through the door. Though she was more subtle about her ‘observing’ than he was. She wanted to know who he was. It was like a weird pull that told her ‘this is a boy you need to know.’ It was strange to say the least. She had just moved here and already she was forming a crush on someone she hasn’t said a word to.

Violet wasn't so keen on moving from Hawaii, her safe place, to an island town in North Carolina. But her father wanted a change of venue now that he was retired from surfing. The town of Outer Banks lives off of tourism and he figured he could start a pretty successful surfboard business that would bring in plenty enough money to pay the bills.

Though JJ was following John B and Pope towards a table, his eyes remained fixated on the brunette. “If you stare long enough she’s going to have to get a restraining order.” Pope commented. The blonde rolled his eyes before he looked back at Violet, when he noticed she was already staring in his direction.

He immediately tried to act normal as he searched the menu and just tried to save himself from embarrassment.

“Go talk to them. You need to start making friends.” Rob said, motioning towards the three boys. “Dad, we literally just got here. And I can’t just go up and talk to them, they’ll think I’m weird.” Violet said.

“Hi, welcome to The Wreck! I’m Kiara and I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but those three imbeciles are my friends. If you want I could introduce you! I know it can be hard to make friends sometimes.” Kiara offered.

Rob nudged his daughter’s arm, telling her to take the girl up on her offer. “Hi, I'm Violet and yeah! That would be great, thank you so much!” Violet replied. “Go. I’ll see you back at the house.” Rob said.

Violet smiled at him before standing up from the table and following Kiara to her friends.

“Oh my god, she’s coming over here. Wh-What do I do? What do I say?” JJ asked, panic setting in. “Dude, just be yourself. Since when have you had trouble talking to girls?” Pope said. “Hey guys this is Violet.” Kiara said.

Violet smiled sweetly at them as JJ tried to avoid her gaze. Not because he wasn’t being friendly but because he knew that if he looked at her, she’d see the redness in his cheeks.

“Hey, Violet. I’m John B. This is Pope and the weirdo right there is JJ.” John B said. “It’s nice to meet you guys.” She replied. “Here, sit down.” Pope offered. Violet sat down in the chair in between John B and JJ, Kiara taking the one across from her.

The five teens fell into a natural conversation, them asking why Violet moved here and her asking what living there was like. She soon learned about the different sides of the island, The Cut and Figure 8. Violet was advised to stay away from that side of the island because the Kooks weren’t so friendly to those who hung around with Pogues.

Violet was beginning to feel at home with the Pogues, causing her confidence to grow and her shyness to disappear.

“Do you guys wanna go surf? I heard that the waves were pretty good around this time of day.” Violet suggested. JJ swore he could feel his heart start speeding up immensely. “I wish but I have to get to work.” Pope said. “And I still have my shift here. But give me your number and we can hang out tomorrow!” Kiara added. “I know JJ is free.” John B spoke up.

JJ kicked his friend from under the table, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I could surf.” He stammered. “Great! I’m sure I can talk my dad into letting us borrow a couple boards if you don’t mind.” Violet said. “I would never mind using a board like that.” JJ replied with a small laugh. “Awesome! You can show me the best spots.” Violet told him.

Pope and Kiara retreated to work while John B left Violet and JJ alone. “My house isn’t far from here, we can walk there, get the boards and head to the beach.” She told him.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe I’m talking to you right now. Your dad is my hero.” JJ said, not being able to keep his thoughts to himself. “Really? You must be pretty good then.” Violet replied, her arm brushing against his. “Well, I don’t wanna brag, but John B and I are the best surfers on the island.” He told her.

The brunette gave him a smirk as they both walked up the porch of her house. “For now. Until I get there out there.” She said.

JJ felt like he was in a cartoon where Buggs Bunny’s heart burst out of his chest and his eyes were bulging out of his head.

“Dad! Can I borrow a couple boards?” Violet called, entering the house. “Take the ones on the van!” Rob called back, meeting his daughter in the entryway. “Who’s this?” He asked. “Oh, dad, this is JJ. I met him this morning at The Wreck.” Violet explained.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been watching you compete since I was a kid.” JJ said. “Well thank you, JJ. I take it you surf as well.” Rob said with a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” JJ answered. “We’re gonna go surf for a bit.” Violet added. “You’ll have to tell me how good the waves are when you get back.” Rob said. “Take the van too. I’m doing some work around the house, I won’t need it.” He added.

Violet smiled sweetly up at her dad as she grabbed the keys off the table near the door. “Thanks, dad.” She said, grabbing JJ’s wrist and pulling back out the door. “See you later!” She called.

JJ felt as if his wrist was burning at the feeling of Violet touching him. Not in a bad way but just at the sheer action of her hand on his wrist.

He was knocked out of his daze by seeing keys flying in his direction. “You’re driving.” Violet told him. “Wait, you want me to drive?” He asked. “You know this island better than I do. Who better to give me the full tour?” She replied.

JJ smirked back at her before getting in the driverseat and her getting in the passenger seat.

After the two had been driving for a couple of minutes, Violet spoke up. “So, tell me about these so-called Kooks.” She started. Violet could see the look of distaste that JJ made as soon as she mentioned the words ‘Kooks.’

“They’re the rich kids on Figure 8. They hate us Pogues because we actually have to work to make a living. They’d like you though. You’re well off, your dad is a professional athlete, you’re really hot,” JJ started. Violet felt her face heat up when she heard JJ call her hot.

“But stay away from Rafe Cameron and Topper. They’re the worst of the worst.” He finished. “You think I’m hot?” Violet teased. “What? I-I, uh, did I say that outloud?” JJ questioned, looking over at her seeing the smile that graced her face. “Yeah, yeah you did.” She answered. “Well, this just got incredibly awkward.” JJ muttered. ��It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.” Violet laughed.

JJ scoffed with a smile before returning his gaze back to the road. Both JJ and Violet couldn’t avoid the feeling of just how natural their conversation was. It was like they’ve known each other for years. She didn’t take his sarcastic remarks to heart and she dished them right back. He thought she was funny and Violet thought JJ was a breath of fresh air.

He wasn’t like the boys she’d known back home and for that she was grateful.

They pulled up to the beach and JJ could see the excitement radiating off of Violet as she hopped out of the vehicle.

He thought he should help the girl get the two surfboards off the top of the van but by the time he got out of the car, Violet had already gotten one down. “Damn, you’re full of surprises aren’t you?” He commented. “Oh you have no idea.” Violet said, sending him a wink.

JJ swallowed the lump in his throat, all of his confidence going totally out the window. Violet grabbed her board and took off the clothes that were over her swimsuit and started walking towards the beach. JJ on the other hand was stuck in his daydream.

“Are you coming?” Violet asked him. JJ cleared his throat before taking his shirt off and grabbing the extra board.

They both go into the water and paddled out to get the good waves, sitting on their boards waiting for a good swell to come.

The blonde looked over at the brunette girl, the water making her skin glisten under the sun and how the sun made her blue eyes stand out against her tan skin. He kept checking her out when he noticed a scar on her right thigh.

“Where’d you get that?” He asked her. Violet looked from him down to the scar he was gesturing to. “Oh, I got stung by a jellyfish when I was 12. Nothing too exciting.” Violet answered. “Getting stung by a jellyfish isn’t exciting?” JJ asked with a small laugh. “Not when you live in Hawaii.” The girl replied.

Violet broke the long session of eye contact when she felt like a good wave was coming. The two made a mental competition to see who could catch the wave first.

JJ thought he had it in the bag, he was used to the waves on the island but he was pleasantly surprised when Violet stood up on her board and flawlessly caught the wave.

The blonde watched in awe at how easily and smoothly Violet surfed the wave and he then felt something towards her that scared him. He was starting to like a girl he had just met hours before.

When Violet paddled back out to him, she noticed how his jaw was practically touching the board when he looked at her. “What?” Violet questioned. “That was amazing.” He said. “Thanks.” Violet replied, running a hand through her wet hair.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you’d replace me as the best surfer here.” JJ commented. “Maybe we can share the title.” Violet smiled at him.

JJ nodded his head, his smile matching hers. He quickly noticed that he’s been doing that a lot since getting to know Violet.

—

Violet and JJ had spent the entire day in the water, surfing, talking and just enjoying each other’s company.

“Hey, do you wanna come to a party at the Boneyard tonight? If you’re gonna be a Pogue this is your initiation.” JJ asked, as he helped her put the boards back on the van.

“If I go, will I officially be a Pogue?” Violet asked. “I’ve known you a total of 8 hours and I can already tell you’re Pogue material.” JJ answered.

Violet leaned against the car and looked up at him. “Then count me in.” She said.

“Really? Then I’ll pick you up at 8.” JJ replied.

“It’s a date.” Violet said casually as John B pulled up. “JJ! We gotta go get the keg!” He called out the window.

JJ was internally cursing out John B while Violet stifled a laugh. “I’ll see you tonight, Violet.” He told you. “I’m looking forwad to it.” She said.

Violet watched JJ for a moment as he was walking to John B’s car before getting in her own.

“How’d it go?” John B asked the blonde when he got in the car. “Dude, she’s amazing. Like, she’s funny, smart, she can surf like I’ve never seen and she’s hot as hell!” JJ replied.

“Well, Kie already likes her. Apparently they’ve been texting every time you two weren’t in the water.” John B. “God, JB, she’s perfect. I can’t mess this up.” JJ said. “Then Sarah and I will keep the tourons away from you all night so you won’t mess it up.” John J told his friend.

Violet arrived back at her house, a goofy smile attached to her face.

“How were the waves?” Rob asked his daughter. “Not as good as North Shore but they’ll do.” Violet answered. “Looks like the waves weren’t the only thing that made you happy.” Her dad commented.

Violet tucked her hair behind her ear as she put the surfboards away.

“Do you like JJ?” Rob asked. “Dad, I just met him. It’s too soon to say.” Violet told him. “Well, he seems like a good kid.” He said before walking back inside.

Violet was then alone with her thoughts until her phone dinged.

Maybe: JJ: hey, it’s JJ. Kie gave me your number, if that’s okay. anyways, i had fun today. i’ll see you tonight (:

Violet smiled at her phone screen before retreating inside.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan (Modern AU)

Ch Rating: T

Ch WC: 2169

AO3

Chapter 7

Another day at the office. Editing, emails and the ever elusive caller that enables equal opportunities for playing phone tag. A game Solas never enjoys participating in. The morning slides by and Varric is at his desk, twirling his keys around his finger.

“Lunch?”

Solas glances up and sighs. “I’m trying to get a hold of Seeker Pentaghast. Sera said she had more info on an agent that might have a lead on Crystal Red.”

“That sounds like a lot of maybes and probablys and a whole lot of I don’t give a fuck. You’re allowed to take a break and get some lunch.”

“What if they call while I’m away?”

“They can leave a message. Now let’s get out of here before we don’t have any time at all for food.”

Solas shoves back his chair and follows Varric. “I did pack a lunch today,” he mentions.

“Save it for tomorrow then. I’m craving some street tacos and there’s a truck just up the road. I’ll buy so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I am less concerned about finances and more concerned about getting food from a truck.”

“Ah, live a little Chuckles,” Varric says as he gives Solas a whack on the back.

“If living a little, as you say, means spending two days on the toilet. Perhaps I do not wish to live a little.”

“Well come with me and grab something else. I’m sure there’s something you’d find worthy of your tastes nearby.”

A half hour later and Solas is holding a taco that’s worth the regret he’ll experience from his future self. Some chipotle mayo dribbles down his chin and he swipes it away while pulling out his phone.

He checks his messages. One from Sarya and one from Veda. He taps on the one from Veda first.

Connor went home sick. Pick me up after school today?

He checks the time and swears. How did he not realize he took such a late lunch? She needs to be picked up right now. He dials her number as he stuffs his arms into his coat.

“Veda needs to be picked up,” he tells Varric as he shoves the remainder of his taco in his mouth.

“Got you covered,” Varric replies.

He mumbles a garbled, “thanks” then takes off down the street. Solas is just a block away from his car in the parking garage when she picks up.

“Hey papae!”

“Hello. I apologize. I just now saw your text. I will be late.”

“No worries. I can always watch the band practice until you get here.”

“I will be there soon.”

“Okie doke.”

He says he loves her and hangs up. Sprints the rest of the way down the street, half choking and wishing he’d at least drank some water but makes his way to his little car without incident. He hops inside. Starts it and zooms out of the garage. He’s speeding which has him checking his rear view mirror constantly. But of course, the city has a million stop lights and he hits every red one. He gets to her school later than he ever intended.

He parks, shoving his glasses all the way up his nose, and searches for Veda at the stadium. He spots her in the bleachers, chin resting in her hands and her copper braids coming undone in the breeze. He takes the stairs to meet her two at a time.

“I am so sorry to make you wait,” he says as he wraps her in his arms.

“Seriously, papae. It’s not a problem at all.”

“But what if it had rained? Or stormed like yesterday?”

“I would’ve just stayed inside. Besides, that didn’t happen.”

He sighs, berating himself a little internally. Then he walks with her back to the car. Slides in and clicks his seatbelt in place.

“What’s this?” Veda asks.

Solas glances over at her. She has Sarya’s camera in her hands. He hadn’t even noticed it there. He calmly says, “a camera.”

“Pssh, obviously. But I don’t remember you having a camera.”

“It’s a friend’s,” he says. “We went out for lunch and they must’ve left it.”

“Oh,” she says. “How was work today?” She’s still fiddling with the camera.

“It was work,” he says. Thankfully she easily dropped the subject. “Not much was accomplished.”

She gasps. “Your friend is so pretty. You’ve never mentioned her before. New coworker?”

“No. Just a new friend I met.”

“She looks familiar—and she’s a wonderful photographer. Maybe we should have her take some pictures of us. We haven’t updated our family photos since I was ten.”

“That’s a wonderful idea Veda. However, my friend is only visiting for a short while. I’m not sure there would be enough time to squeeze some family photos in.”

“Bummer. You look so happy around her.”

“I don’t always look happy?”

“You look a different kind of happy with her. It’s nice.”

He takes her words and holds them close to her chest. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yeah,” she says, then she unloads a multitude of stories. How one of her friends got their tooth knocked out by a basketball in gym. How she accidentally used Elvhen in her Tevene class and didn’t notice until the whole class was just staring at her.

“Did you feel embarrassed?” he asks as they pull into the garage.

“A little. But I mostly found it funny. The way the other kids looked so confused.”

“Does anyone treat you differently when you speak Elvhen?”

She shrugs. “There’s a couple of kids who say stupid things but I don’t hang around them.”

“Veda, I’m happy to speak with the administration if your having trouble with other students—“

“While I appreciate that, I can handle a couple of kids who are jerks.”

“Very well but if you ever—“

“I know.” She slings her backpack in her back then kisses his cheek. “Can I go to Varric’s house? I want to see the cats and hang out with Cole for a bit.”

“Yes, so long as you check with—“

“Already did.” She steps out of the car. “Going to drop my stuff off inside then I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you want to leave. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. See you later, papae.”

Solas sighs. He’s glad she still talks to him and he still gets to see her but there’s also this tiny ache in his chest that misses her always being around the house. But he reminds himself that this is a good thing. It’s just new and he pulls out his phone to read his messages from Sarya.

Hey I’m going to try and stop by your work around 3:15 today.

I stopped by your work but you weren’t there. Saw Varric though! He introduced me to everyone and it was fun! I really like Sera. She’s hilarious! And Merrill was so sweet! Anyway, hopefully I’ll see you sometime soon. 😉

—

“I fold,” Sarya says, she takes a drag from her cigarillo. Then throws her cards face up on the table.

“Already?” Han asks. “What a shame.”

“Your mind must be elsewhere, Sarya. I’ve never known you to throw a game,” Vilanti says as she shows her cards.

Han takes the game and lets out a whoop as he gathers them all to shuffle.

“I still can’t believe Dallen just up and left us. Did he say anything to either of you? About his plans.”

Both of them shake their heads.

“It’s really odd.”

“I don’t know why you care. Easier to keep yourself from using him. Easier for him to be happy this way,” Han says.

“Ouch,” Vilanti grimaces, then gestures for all the cards to be handed over. She shuffles.

“I do agree with that actually. It’s just that most who move on from our happy little family tend to give us more of a notice. We didn’t get to give him a proper goodbye.”

“I don’t mean to sound callous here Sarya, but you were the only one who cared about the guy. Makes sense why he moved on.” Vilanti deals.

Sarya picks up her hand and stares straight through the cards. “That’s not true.”

“Basically,” Han argues. He draws a card.

“Sometimes you both are mean.”

“Not mean. Just honest,” Han says.

Vilanti draws. “On another note, I heard Makon made a new friend today.”

“What?” Sarya nearly drops her cards. “Our Makon? Makon—stoic, quiet, unsociable Makon?”

“Yep. Met her at the gas station. She was passing through on her way to Wycome and her motorcycle broke down. He fixed it up for her on the spot and they exchanged numbers I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Good for him,” Han says.

Sarya draws a card. “Yeah, seriously. I hope that works out.”

“Our next gig is in Wycome and he plans to see her then.”

“Was it love at first sight or something?” Sarya asks. She folds and picks her cigarillo back up. Her interest in cards declining by the second.

Vilanti shrugs and plays her cards, taking the game. “By the way he keeps talking about her, I’d say yes.”

“What’s her name,” Han asks, gathering all the cards into a pile.

“Athi. Athi Lavellan.”

“Another Lavellan huh?”

“Guess so. Maybe she’s related to you two,” Vilanti says.

“Doubt it. Or if she is, it’s very distant,” Han says.

In the distance they hear yelling and smashing bottles. They all exchange looks.

“Wonder who the hell set Deshanna off—“

“Let’s go see if we can smooth things over,” Han says with a sigh.

“You two can go. I’ll probably make things worse. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“That’s because you push his buttons. Definitely better for you to stay here,” Han tells her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Then she waves at them as they slip out the door and finishes off her cigarillo.

—

It’s dark and quiet and Sarya gazes longingly out the window at a small patch of stars. The only patch not hidden by the clouds. She sighs and startles at the sound of knocking. Straightening herself out, she rubs the redness from her elbows and opens the door.

“Solas,” she says it like she’s expecting him but she’s truly surprised. She steps out with him, shutting the door behind her.

“You forgot your camera,” he tells her, holding it out in his hands.

She takes it from him, hanging it around her neck. “Thank you. I should really start keeping better track of my things or you’re going to start thinking I’m trying to bait you or something.”

“I would bite every time,” he says, his hands clasped behind his back. There’s a certain sparkle in his eye and she can’t read him. But she knows she wants to kiss him. So without another thought, she stretches up on her toes and takes him by surprise. He is frigid and she panics, certain she has misstepped. After all, friends don’t kiss like that.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a little out of breath. “I don’t know what…”

Her words are caught on the edge of his lips as he captures her mouth again. His kiss is unreserved but not what she’d call passionate. Like the kiss of a long time lover. A kiss of promise. Of commitment. Her mind screams at her to let go while simultaneously wishing and longing for more. His leg is pressed into her inner thigh and despite the chill of the air, she’s certain she is on fire. Her nails are in his shoulder, the camera even hurts just a little as it presses into her chest, and she doesn’t mean to let out a moan but it’s too late for regrets as he pushes her against the side of her trailer. One hand above her and the other in her hair. With each breath she steals between kisses, she studies his face. Memorizes it and stores it for always. Freckles for days and the tiniest scar above his brow. The only sign of his age lies in the lines of crows feet near the edges of his eyes and she tells herself to ask if he has a skincare routine. He certainly seems the type.

She studies his closed eyelids, there’s two freckles on the right and a singular small one on the left and she notices that there’s even some red in his brows and wonders if they’d have red headed babies.

She gasps then. Pulls away. Why in the hell is she thinking of babies?

“Perhaps I should…”

“Kiss me again,” she says to him. She won’t let one ridiculous thought ruin the moment. She knows that she’s falling for him. Too fast, too soon but she’s holding on for another day.

When they break apart she doesn’t want him to go. But it’s too much to ask him to stay. So she waves goodbye then clicks her camera, saving the image of him walking away.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Never a Gull Moment

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 3523

For @yavannie, who wanted Sam to either gain new powers or carry Bucky through the air. Spoiler, I went with both. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Sam’s had an intense first week as Captain America. The perfect opportunity for a break arises when Joaquín contacts him, offering new programming for his suit. All he needs to test the tech are the beach, birds, and one uncooperative bonehead Sam didn’t manage to leave behind in New York.

If there’s one skill Sam’s hoping to adopt from his predecessor—Steve, not Walker (sweet Jesus, not Walker)—it’s the ability to end a conversation with a humble handwave before it can even begin. Steve always had that in the bag. Leading with the wrist in a flick of the hand that came across as both sheepish and respectful. Like he’d love to stop and talk with that fan or this journalist but he was just too busy. And not rude busy, busy with a quiet nobility. Anyway, it all came across in the wave.

Sam hasn’t nailed the wave.

Four days after the GRC vote-that-wasn’t, he’s still in New York, bouncing between TV appearances; everybody wants a piece of the new Cap. Sam wishes they asked a little more about his opinions on compassion for the displaced, as well as those who survived the Snap to form new, functional communities, and less about the look of his new suit, but isn’t it always a battle between style and substance? At least people are listening. To everything except the look Sam knows he has in his eyes, the one that says this debut has been a lot and he’s longing for home.

He knows he has to nail this aspect of being Captain America too. Unfortunately, chuckling amiably with morning show hosts isn’t doing a hell of a lot to distract him from what it took to get him here. There are seconds where his attention wavers—he’ll be nodding along to whatever someone’s saying, or letting his gaze follow a bike courier down the street instead of staying trained on the camera the roving reporter has set up on the sidewalk—and that’s when Karli hurtles into his mind. He feels her desperate blows vibrating the shield, the weight of her body in his arms, in her death.

He can’t keep sitting behind desks or posing impressively and trying to answer the hard questions (on the rare occasion they’re asked) after he’s told people he’s not the expert. When Torres calls up, it’s the close-enough-to-official reason Sam’s been waiting for to step back and do something that actually feels useful.

Bucky, who’s been skulking behind the scenes, somehow never pulled into interviews (if he knows the deferring wave and he’s been doing it just outside Sam’s sightline all week, Sam’s gonna kill him), sticks with him. They head south to meet Torres, and at least that feels like the right direction. Homeward bound. Of course, they stop a handful of states before Louisiana and hug the east coast, but it’s an improvement. They meet Torres at… the beach.

He’s got his foot propped in the open doorframe of a Humvee, giving Sam and Bucky a big, eager, whole-arm wave as they pull up. Not like they’re gonna miss him; Torres is in the only vehicle parked halfway down an unpaved road. Sand dunes climb steep and high just feet from his front bumper, an informal path cutting between the dunes and leading to the water, though Sam can’t see that from this vantage.

Torres’s hand is somehow already grasping Sam’s in a pumping, congratulatory shake before he’s fully out of the car. Sam hears Bucky’s soft snort of suppressed laughter and shoots him a look across the seats. Bucky raises his palms, but Sam spots his smirk before they’re both slamming their doors and stretching their legs after the drive.

“Traffic?” Torres asks brightly.

“Nah,” Bucky answers, coming around the back of their ride. “Sam just drives slower than my grandmother and she—”

“Died on the Titanic?” Sam guesses dryly.

Bucky’s flat stare could be saying a lot of things, or nothing. Sam feels as if he’s been a student of the language of Bucky’s stare for a while now, but his comprehension is still rudimentary. Pop that asshole in a sanctuary for rehabilitated brain-washees, have somebody study his behaviour like Jane Goodall studies chimpanzees, and they might get some answers. The idea starts as something funny Sam almost shares, but then he imagines handfeeding Bucky a banana and it gets weird. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Or she got the cryo treatment too and she’s kickin’ around someplace, speakin’ Russian and makin’ headshots.”

“Come on, man, Hydra jokes about your own grandmother?” Sam scoffs. “That’s not even a little bit funny.”

Torres’s expression is like a kid watching a wrestling match on TV—awed, alarmed, reluctant to question what’s real because he’s just enjoying the show.

Bucky cracks a slow smile and Sam rolls his eyes, slapping Torres’s shoulder to get him to head towards the Humvee and the reason they’re here.

“Nana woulda thought it was funny,” Bucky assures them.

“Nana?”

“Lemme guess… You called your aunt ‘TT,’ so your grandmother’s probably… ‘GG,’ am I right?”

Sam glares at him (because his guess is correct and he’s a pain in the ass) and turns fully to Torres as he opens the back, revealing a large case.

“You were vague on the phone,” Sam recalls, watching Torres tug the case close before undoing the clasps. Bucky leans against the vehicle as he observes, dark pants picking up a swipe of road dust from the dirty taillight. “Something about an update for the suit?”

“Right,” Torres agrees.

He throws the case open to reveal the wings Sam gifted him. They’ve been repaired and Sam automatically strokes a hand over the gleaming, extended metal. If Torres did this himself, he sure worked fast.

“That duffle bag wasn’t good enough for you?” Sam asks jokingly, remembering his gear broken and jumbled, fit to be dragged out with the trash.

“They’re kind my prized possession,” Torres admits. “I thought they deserved to be kept nice.”

“You might even wanna put ’em on sometime.”

“I’m working up to that.” Torres laughs. “I wanted to make sure they were in working order before I jumped off a building.”

“Or out of the back of a plane without a parachute, right, Buck?” Sam asks, smacking the back of his hand into Bucky’s chest.

“I was fine,” Bucky insists.

“Sure you were. We can watch the footage again. I’m up for that.”

“Just let the man finish.”

Torres grants Bucky a wide smile in thanks.

“Yeah,” he picks up, “so I was fixing them, working on the wiring, and when I got the electronics running smoothly again, I started thinking about Redwing—”

“May he rest in pieces,” Bucky contributes.

“Uncalled for,” Sam complains.

“I replaced it, didn’t I?”

“The Wakandans replaced it.”

“As a favour to me.”

Torres’s gaze dances between them until Sam motions for him to continue.

“About Redwing,” Torres goes on enthusiastically. “The sophistication of the relationship between you, how intuitive the tech was. How Redwing understood not just simply-stated commands, but a more conversational approach, interpreting your intentions.”

“Finally, a little Redwing appreciation,” Sam says. He crosses his arms and gives Bucky a meaningful look.

“But what if it was a real bird?” Torres blurts.

Most of a minute passes as Sam stares at Torres’s excited expression.

“I think I might get where Torres is going with this,” Bucky says.

Sam holds up a hand to pause him. He could make a guess at it too, but there’s no need for that. They have the source of whatever alterations have been made right here.

“In your own words, Joaquín,” Sam encourages.

“Well,” he begins, one palm braced in the bed of the Humvee as he leans over the case with unconscious protectiveness, “you know I’ve kinda been itching to get my hands on the wings for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Sam laughs, remembering having to practically slap Torres’s hands away from the jetpack in Tunisia.

“Since you gave them to me a couple weeks ago, I’ve been tinkering, like I said, and I had this idea. Now,” he warns, raising both hands in caution, “this might be either really obvious or really disrespectful to the whole concept of the Falcon, but I started wondering if it’d be possible for the person wearing the wings to talk to nearby birds. Use them like a resource, like with Redwing.”

“Black Panther dresses like a cat with Vibranium claws.”

“Spider-Man has webs,” Bucky adds.

“Right,” Sam agrees, nodding to him before looking back to Torres. “I don’t think it’s disrespectful to lean into the gimmick if it’s amplifying your abilities.”

“Awesome,” Torres pronounces.

“I assume you went further than just wondering about it?”

Torres gives them a modest shrug.

“I know a guy who knows an ornithologist.”

“Bird scientist,” Bucky translates.

Turning his head, Sam glances at Bucky with a no shit look.

“Thanks,” he says insincerely.

“You’re welcome.”

“Long story short,” Torres pipes up, “she got me access to a catalogue of bird calls and the scientific consensus on what they all mean. I patched that info into the suit and, hopefully, it’s something that could be used, uh, on the fly. Sorry, I was trying to think of another way to say that.”

“So my suit would be able to communicate with birds?” Sam checks. “Automatically?”

“Yeah, it would assess your surroundings the same way Redwing does already, but scanning for birds, identifying what kind they are, and having the interpretation of their calls at the ready if needed.”

“What sort of information would I be gaining with this tech?”

“Stuff like… are they feeling threatened or disturbed? Does something feel off about their environment that has something to do with somebody you’re maybe chasing?”

“Mating rituals,” Bucky says.

“How is being able to recognize mating rituals going to help me?” Sam demands.

“You never know.”

“You brought your suit, right?” Torres wants to know. Apparently, he’s not going to bother engaging with Bucky’s nonsense. “It won’t take long for me to install the new software.”

“It’s in the back,” Sam assures him, jerking a thumb towards the other vehicle.

“Great!”

“But just the bird calls. This suit is brand new. No tinkering.”

“No tinkering,” Torres swears.

He sets up his impromptu workshop in the back seat, next to the suit. Sam has to admit to himself that Torres’s reverential expression as he handles the Captain America suit is pretty flattering. He watches the progress until Torres sits back, stating it’ll just be a few minutes for the new programming to be assimilated.

“Why the beach?” Sam asks while they wait.

“I was inspired by some shaky, far-away footage of you in New York. You did, uh, kind of a nosedive into the river there, so I thought maybe you’d be interested in testing your suit’s maneuverability in water at the same time as we did a trial with the bird calls.”

“Are we running a drill or something?” Bucky wonders.

“That’s a good idea,” Torres says immediately. “A scenario to use both the calls and the water.”

“You got something in mind?”

Sam isn’t the one who asks because he can see from Torres’s face that he does. Fortunately, he is the one who gets to laugh when the Lieutenant squints consideringly at Bucky and asks, “How long can you hold your breath?”

—

The last Sam sees of Bucky, he’s taking off his shirt.

“Oh, entire jacket this time?” Torres asked when Bucky took that off first.

After that, it was his shoes and socks, then his t-shirt, and this whole Bucky stripping thing isn’t so much a last look as something that Sam has to stand there witnessing for a while. He’s already in the Cap suit and, seriously, Bucky could’ve changed at the same time. Then, he would’ve been ready to go without making Sam and Torres wait around. But Sam wouldn’t have gotten to see him undress.

“Hurry it up, man.” His voice is a little off because, at the same time, he’s thinking, Please don’t take your pants off.

“If you’re making me play a drowning victim, I can at least not be getting weighed down,” Bucky argues. “This is to help you, right? Quit complaining.”

Finally, he stalks away, mounting the dune in black jeans and a half-assed scowl and disappearing over the top. The plan is for him to swim out, then duck under the water when Torres tells him to (the guy’s brought along waterproof earpieces for the purpose). Next, Sam will fly up and search for the ‘victim,’ relying solely on input from the seagulls wheeling lazily overhead. It’s a good exercise Torres has cooked up.

Sam hands the shield off to Torres for safekeeping before the Lieutenant heads to the beach. The shield won’t be necessary for this and there’s no way in hell Sam’s leaving it in the car. Besides, it’s kinda funny how wide Torres’s eyes go when Sam offers it up. Even bigger reaction than leaving him the wings, though this he doesn’t get to keep.

“On my signal,” Torres restates.

Sam gives him a sharp nod.

Once he’s alone, he paces between the vehicles, eager to kick off the ground. He hasn’t had an opportunity to just enjoy himself in the new suit yet. Leading up to the confrontation with the Flag-Smashers (and Georges Batroc, that fists-of-steel bastard), he was in training mode, focused and determined. In the media-heavy days that followed, he conceded to a few stunts for the camera. Those hadn’t been purely fun though; they were actually something Sam had to think quick and hard about, ultimately deciding that it wasn’t just performing on command but rather giving the public a lighthearted look at their new Captain America. Testing new tech with Bucky, Torres, and a bunch of seagulls? That seems like it’ll actually be a good time.

The instant Torres’s voice in Sam’s ear says, “Bucky’s under,” he unfurls the wings and sails up over the crest of the dune.

It’s not the warmest day and the greenish-blue water’s choppy near the shore, but there is a surprising smattering of people along a quarter mile of beach. Must be locals, Sam guesses, trekking down to the water from nearby houses. That would explain the lack of other cars where he parked. The people aren’t that close or that bothered by his sudden appearance overhead. Startled, sure, but after they’ve identified him (he sees a few hands lifted to foreheads to block out the sun so they can get a good look), he gets to return a couple big waves. Besides that, nobody’s getting to their feet to pound sand and swarm Torres, who’s conspicuously there with Sam—he is holding the shield, after all. Pretty typical. The bigger the crowd, the greater the chance of people scrambling for his attention and/or whipping out their phones to film him. This group seems satisfied with watching Captain America hanging out at their beach on his downtime and Sam appreciates them for that.

“No scanning the water,” Torres says in his ear. Sam laughs.

“I’m not, just assessing our audience here.”

“Is this a bad spot? I didn’t think anybody’d be around when I sent you my location, but—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Did anybody ask you what was up when Bucky waded out into the water?”

“Nah. If they were wondering, they probably aren’t anymore.”

“Glad I won’t have to compete with a lifeguard to rescue him,” Sam jokes.

He hears Torres’s short laugh of agreement before focusing. Not on the water at all, but the birds. Those down on the sand are squawking for food, comfortable enough with these people to complain loudly in the hopes of being fed.

Sam’s sudden swoops scatter the gulls in the air, so he tries easier circles, mimicking their movements to hover high above the beach. Soon enough—these guys either have bad short-term memories or no patience—they start communicating with each other. The new programming Torres has uploaded to his suit signals to Sam that the birds are aware of a disturbance in the water. He gets a target on his goggles’ imaging and dives.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam crashes into the murky water no more than a hundred yards out. The drop-off is dramatic enough for him to not complete a faceplant into a shallow bottom. Bucky’s treading water a couple body-lengths down, but he wrecks his form to offer Sam a raised middle finger in greeting. Sam’s wings retract as he grabs Bucky’s wrist to haul him to the surface.

They breathe, bobbing in place.

“Thought you’d be faster,” Bucky says.

“You didn’t drown, did you?” Sam points out. “Come on.”

He catches hold of Bucky’s hand and shoots out of the water, wings opening in the air to carry him once the thruster’s done its work. But Bucky squirms below him, their wet grip twisting precariously. Water runs from his sopping jeans.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I don’t want to be carried to shore!”

“Why?”

“Because dangling this high above the ground feels a little weird to me! Not all of us do this every day!”

“I guess we could run the exercise again.”

“Fine. Let’s do that. Just drop me.”

Sam rewards Bucky’s melodrama by abruptly releasing his grip. Hey, that’s what the idiot asked for, and if he can fall out of a plane to the forest floor, he can plunge into water. It’s not like Sam’s up at aircraft cruising altitude, just high enough to make Torres look like a little action figure army man, standing on the sand in his fatigues.

“Running it again?” Torres wants to know.

“Yep,” Sam tells him, accelerating away from the shore. “Just giving that dumbass time to swim to a new spot.”

“Even though he can’t reply while he’s underwater… you know he can hear you in the comms, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

When Torres lets him know that Bucky’s gone under a second time, they start the drill again. Once more, Sam does a gliding approach to the seagulls. Once more, they go quiet before filling the air with their screaming, overlapping calls. Once more, Sam finds Bucky. He knows he’s quicker this time, so he’s expecting an acknowledgement of that when he contracts the wings, straightens his body, and plummets into the water feetfirst next to where Bucky’s floating below the surface.

Instead of an appreciative nod, an outstretched hand, or even a thumbs up, Bucky darts away from him. Is he trying not to get rescued? Now he’s just fucking up the exercise. Only, Sam can’t even berate him, because he’s still under too, holding his breath as he swims after Bucky. He uses the jetpack for assistance, but Bucky’s a fast swimmer, legs kicking just ahead of Sam. Goddamn human shark.

Because he is not an idiot, Sam surfaces to catch his breath, leaving Bucky somewhere below.

“There a problem?” Torres asks.

“Only with Bucky’s idea of teamwork.”

“Get him like a bird would!”

“Is that a real suggestion?” Sam asks, rising and falling as a small wave swells under him, rolling towards the shore.

“Really, Sam! You know, like how birds hunt fish.” Back on the beach, he makes a sharp, downward gesture with his arm that has Sam chuckling. He gets what Torres means though.

“Alright.”

Sam goes from water to air, then, alerted by a trio of seagulls taking annoyed flight from the surface of the water, goes into a steep dive. Nabbing the swimmer from above is the trick, he learns, when the swimmer is being intentionally uncooperative with the rescue attempt. Bucky might be quick when he knows Sam’s behind him, but when he drops down on him, there’s nowhere Bucky can go. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s bare chest from behind and lugs him up for air.

The first thing Bucky says is, “You took even longer that time.”

Frustrated, Sam splashes the back of his head, but when Bucky strokes his arms out, rotating to face him, he’s smiling.

“You messed it up,” Sam accuses. He rubs a hand across his goggles to smear the water droplets off.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun.”

Sam narrows his eyes before a laugh bursts out of him. He can’t help it; it’s the pressure he’s been under, so much internal conflict, suddenly drawn out with the current. Yeah, Bucky was slightly uncooperative, but that’s nothing unusual. Swimming ahead like he was going for a gold medal or forcing Sam to plunge deep after him, the two of them suspended like the goddamn Shape of Water before Sam towed him to the surface—either way, Bucky definitely gave him distinct scenarios to work with. Sam can’t say he doesn’t feel more comfortable now that he’s had some practice. More comfortable with his wings in the water, with working with his feathered allies. With Bucky.

“Still don’t want a lift?” Sam checks.

Bucky’s expression hardens and Sam backs off with a laugh.

“See you on the shore,” Bucky states firmly.

“Alright. Get doggy-paddlin’, White Wolf.”

Sam feels Bucky’s hand shoot out to seize his ankle in retaliation as he launches out of the water, but he’s too slow. Sam’s wings fan wide as he flies up, up, up with the birds.

[bigfrozenfan-fanfics]

Chapter 15 - Valley of the Living Rock

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday at 6:00 pm CEST dst/UTC +2:00 on (link) Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting and music.

Elsa could not avert her gaze as they passed the ice palace on her left about an hour after dark. She had placed her forearms on top of each other on the side of the wagon and supported her chin on her left hand while she visibly enjoyed the sight. A pale blue glow lit up the palace from the inside and made the filigree structure visible from afar. It was like a beacon in the night and beautiful to look at.

“This is what I should have created?” she asked Anna softly, “It is simply fantastic.”

“Yes, that was you, Elsa, all alone. I'll have to tell you the long story about it sometime after. It was your refuge and is now the home of Marshmallow and the Snowgies.”

Elsa turned to her with a questioning expression on her face. But Anna laid a hand on hers before she could ask for it and said, smiling, “Be patient. It's an exciting as well as funny story and you'll certainly have many more questions about it.”

Elsa nodded and turned around again afterwards. “All right", she said very quietly and, "I'd love to have a look at it from the inside,” more to herself than to Anna.

But Anna had heard it and said almost as softly, “You will, sis. We will visit your palace together. Hopefully very soon.”

Suddenly Anna remembered all the events when she was looking for her sister back then. Except for the pure beauty of the palace itself and the fact that she had met Kristoff on her arduous journey, however, she did not have very pleasant memories of it and she was somehow glad that Elsa did not insist on her story right now. There was plenty of time for that in another day; she thought.

But it wouldn't be easy for her to reopen her past, she knew that for sure now. She bit her lower lip slightly as she thought about it, but quickly shook the thought off again. There were more important things to do now and soon they would reach the Valley of the Living Rock. Her eyes fell on Olaf, who was sitting directly opposite her. Somehow he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, for he nodded at her in a knowing way and looked at her sympathetically.

But as if she had guessed the right moment in advance, Kristoff just called forward in a loud voice and asked Mattias to come back to him. Both wagons stopped and Mattias rode to his side.

“I know a shortcut and we have to turn off further ahead soon. The path is hard to see, especially now in the dark. It's best if I get in front of your wagon and drive ahead. Sven also knows the way and will lead us there safely.”

“All right, Kristoff. I'll let my people know up front, and we'll come after you. How long will it take us to get there?”

“A little over an hour, I'd say. We'll have to walk the rest as soon as the road is too narrow for the wagons. Besides, the area is very rocky and there are active geysers there.”

Kristoff saw, in the flickering light of the lantern hanging outside the wagon, how Mattias looked at him in astonishment, finally just nodded and rode back. Kristoff pulled up slowly when he saw Mattias waving. The wagon in front also had a lantern hanging on the outside and as he drove by he saw two sceptical looking faces. Trygve and Kristina were obviously not very eager to meet living legends from an ancient fable story in the middle of the night. He nodded at them smiling, “Don't worry, folks. The trolls are harmless. I grew up among them.”

But Kristoff did not see them grinning at each other anymore and Trygve tapped his temple with his finger and shook his head.

Olaf climbed to the front beside Kristoff and laughed in his inimitable way: “I am looking forward to seeing everyone again, especially the little ones. They're always so funny.”

Kristoff looked over at him and was about to answer him when Anna's head appeared between them and said to Kristoff conspiratorially quietly, “Kristoff, I think it's better if you go ahead later and make sure that only Grand Pabbie is waiting for us alone. I don't want Elsa to be frightened. You know how trolls are. Maybe you should warn him about her condition right away.” Turning to Olaf, she quickly added, “I'm sorry, Olaf, but you won't be able to see the little ones tonight.”

“Never mind, Anna, we'll visit them some other time soon,” he returned happily and laughed at her.

Anna looked at Kristoff again and he nodded. “All right, Anna. I hadn't thought of that yet.”

She put a hand on his shoulder with a smile. “Thanks, honey.”

When she sat back down again, Elsa grabbed her arm and asked, “Trolls? We are going to see trolls now?”

Anna pressed her lips together with raised eyebrows and wide open eyes and felt caught. Kristoff hadn't exactly been quiet earlier, and Elsa was now certainly feeling insecure. Why hadn't she instructed Kristoff before.

“Um ... well, actually only to one troll. He is very old and wise, has great amount of knowledge. You have seen him twice before and he has known you since we were both little kids. Kristoff and I hope he can help us with your lost memories. He has certain abilities, you know? You don't have to be afraid of him, even if he looks a little ... strange at first glance.” Anna searched Elsa's face to see if she seemed afraid.

But Elsa just smiled and replied, “I think I have many more miracles to prepare for. I'm beginning to feel as if I've woken up in a fairy tale that's come to life.”

~~~

Yelana had now been on the road for hours and stopped at a lively little stream to refresh herself and give the reindeer water. The advantage of travelling cross-country, as opposed to a wagon on a reindeer, was to save time and travel. She knew the area pretty well, so there was no danger of getting lost in the woods. But despite the time saved, dusk had already fallen and she would not quite make it to Arendelle in daylight. It did not make sense to arrive there in the middle of the night.

She looked around and found a good place to spend the night. The foliage of a big tree was very dense and underneath it was a small open area that would protect her from possible rain. At least as long as it did not pour.

She led the reindeer there and tied the line of the harness to a thick branch. Then she gathered lichen, moss and some mushrooms for the animal. Unfortunately, she herself had not had time to provide for her own food, but this area here offered enough plants that were full of edible berries. She gathered enough of them to satisfy her hunger to some extent.

She then cut off some green pine branches from various trees around her and used them to make a temporary camp for the night. Finally she sat down in front of it and thought about her next steps. Would the council in Arendelle even believe her? She had to find Queen Anna first and inform her about the new situation. It would change everything and possibly endanger the newly won peace treaty between Arendelle and her people considerably. Would she be able to help her to regain her place as leader of the Northuldra?

Yelana sighed and shook her head. Probably not; she thought. In order to proceed against Kolgrimr without endangering further human lives, someone with magical abilities would be needed. Someone like Elsa. Right now they were all so dependent on their fifth spirit, however Elsa was unfortunately out of action.

Yelana reached into her bag and pulled out her scarf that she once got from her mother. She put it around her shoulders and wrapped herself tightly in it. Lost in thought, she stroked the five symbols on it and thought of her past, of the time when everything was still in balance and they all lived in harmony with themselves and everything around them. Long before the fateful day when King Runeard appeared and since then everything, but really everything, had gone out of control.

The peace had not lasted long and she would have to fight for it now, even if it cost her her own life. Once again, she had been thoroughly mistaken about someone, for as it now turned out, Gyda had been giving her son shelter for years and unnoticed. It had probably been she herself who had poisoned her son's being with her hatred and had turned him into a monster. Someone who was now even willing to kill.

Under no circumstances was Gyda allowed to lead the people of the sun. Not ever. She would make sure of it. But Yelana did not yet know how she would do it. She needed support. She needed help from Arendelle.

She gritted her teeth in annoyance and disappointment at herself as she thought back to the Norting and what she had told the men there.

Gyda had lied right into her face and she had believed everything.

~~~

Kristoff stopped the wagon and jumped off the trestle. “End of the line. We have to walk from here,” he called out.

Rocks rose up to their left and right, and the path had become narrow and rocky. Further ahead, the steam of the geysers enveloped the rest of the path.

Kristoff waved back to Mattias and the other two drivers and then went to Sven to make sure that everything was all right with him and that he felt comfortable. Mattias said something to his people and then came forward alone.

“Are we there?” he asked.

Anna replied in Kristoff's place, “Pretty much, Mattias, but Kristoff will go ahead alone first and announce our arrival.”

Mattias nodded and got off his horse to stretch his legs a little.

“I'll be back soon,” Kristoff said as he came back to them and got a torch from inside the wagon. He lit it on the lantern and disappeared shortly afterwards in the fog in front of them.

They waited and it took at least half an hour until finally the other two came to them as well. Trygve carried the lantern from the wagon and asked, “Is there a problem?”

“No, it's all right. Kristoff went ahead alone and should be back any moment,” Mattias replied to them. He saw their skeptical looks, which were directed past him to the front and said, “You don't have to come along if you don't want to.”

“It's okay, General” Kristina said, “We've been through so much already, we don't want to miss the opportunity to encounter a myth.”

She looked at her companion, who nodded affirmatively, “We'll come.”

“All right,” Mattias said, “to be honest, I feel the same way, but keep your eyes open all the time, remember our duty is to protect the royal family at all cost.”

A few minutes later, a faint reddish spot dancing up and down in the thick haze like a will-o'-the-wisp announced Kristoff's return.

After he gave his okay, they all left. Anna walked ahead at his side, followed by Elsa with Olaf, then Mattias, who looked around attentively, and in the end Trygve and Kristina, who looked visibly nervous and kept peering back over their shoulders into the dark. Kristina rubbed her wet palms against her leg dresses.

The little geysers hissed and enveloped them in their damp steam as they passed them. However, after a short time the view became clearer and the narrow path opened up into a lower, almost circular area where there was a large rock. On it sat a quirky looking creature covered with moss, wearing a chain of yellow shining crystals around his neck. It was Grand Pabbie, the king of the trolls, who looked calmly and serenely towards them and had folded his big hands in his lap.

They were already halfway to the clearing when Elsa only now noticed him and stopped in surprise. She stared at him and began to nervously knead her hands in front of her. She hadn't expected this after all. All the others behind her also stopped and waited to see what might happen. Only Olaf ran on and stood next to Anna, who now stopped right in front of the troll. She hadn't noticed anything behind her yet.

The old troll bowed before her. “Your Majesty ..., Kristoff ... it is never a dull moment with you all. Only this time you're going to give me a real challenge.” He looked at Elsa in between them and it took a few seconds before he finally said something again. “She's afraid.”

Anna's head spun around and she ran the few steps back to Elsa, took her hands in hers to calm her down and looked deep into her eyes. “Elsa, you don't have to be afraid of him, really. He only wants to help. Please come forward with me, I'll be by your side at all times,” she said softly and almost imploringly. “Trust me, there's no danger at all.”

Anna felt her sister's hands tremble slightly and for a few moments Elsa didn't react but just stared at the troll. Then her sister took a deep breath and nodded. She looked at Anna and squeezed her hands.

“Okay, let's do it. Whatever come next, we'll do it ... together.”

Anna smiled in relief and led her to Grand Pabbie, holding one hand. They stopped in front of him and Elsa scrutinized him closely, looking at every square inch of the old troll and wondering how such a creature could even exist.

He was alive, there was no doubt about that, but his hair and eyebrows seemed to be made of dry straw and there even grew a small bundle of it out of his ears. His bulbous nose was unnaturally large and the small indentations in it, which were probably the pores of his skin, looked more like the surface of a weathered stone, as did his skin, which showed traces of moss. His moss mantle looked somehow ... fresh, as if it had been harvested in the morning dew and simply peeled off in one piece as a blanket from the ground. The transparent crystals he wore around his neck on a willow rod chain glowed from inside without any visible light source and it almost seemed as if this glow was pulsating slightly.

Finally she looked up into his night-black eyes and held her breath. His gaze seemed to penetrate her and literally nailed her to the spot. His eyebrows lifted and he stretched out his short arms towards her, palms up. He obviously wanted her to put her hands in his. She felt Anna's handshake and her thumb stroking the back of her hand.

She took her eyes off Grand Pabbie and instead looked at her sister questioningly. She now released Elsa's hand and nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, Elsa. That's just his special way of finding out hidden things inside us. This way he can feel and see what's bothering us. He can help you with that,” Anna said and looked into the troll's face. “At least I hope so,” she then added somewhat more quietly.

Elsa hesitated but finally raised both hands and slowly lowered them onto Grand Pabbie's large four-finger palms. When she touched them, all she felt was a cold, rough surface and a gentle pressure as the troll embraced her hands and held them.

For a while, nothing happened at all, everyone just stood there and concentrated on what was happening. Grand Pabbie had now closed his eyes and his bushy eyebrows were drawn together in deep concentration. There was a tense silence.

Then the old troll suddenly moaned and stared at Elsa. “You really have a big problem, Elsa, and I'm afraid I can't help you. You're under some kind of spell. Someone with magical powers has blocked the access to your inner self along with your memories.”

~~~

---

To be continued ...  

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know, except you are already tagged :-)

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp @the-fifth-spirit-elsa ​

[tommybaholland]

Hiya! I was wondering if I could request a one-shot with Sugawara where the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? Then maybe another person catches his attention and the reader starts to distance themselves from Suga to try to spare themselves the hurt? Then maybe turns out the other person was just using Suga/wasn’t serious bout him and he realizes that the person he really loves is the reader but now they’re staying away from him and just angst and fluff and dramatic confessions?? Sorry if it’s far too much detail, I get carried away. Your writing is amazing, keep up the fantastic work!

somebody, some body

featuring: sugawara 

goddddd i’m so sorry i am late with a post AGAIN. this has been way overdue to be posted actually, and last night i finished it and was almost done with editing but accidentally lost everything i added and edited in the draft :// so thank you for being patient with me! this ended up being pretty long, so hopefully that makes up for the wait :) anyway, i really liked this idea! i have a little personal experience with this kind of situation, so it was fun to explore those feelings a bit. thanks for requesting and enjoy!

you didn’t always know that you would be in love with koshi sugawara. your dynamic was always friendly, and nothing more. so where did you go wrong?

when you think back to your history with suga, you could never find yourself resenting any time you spent with him. it all started when you moved into his neighborhood and as a shy child, you didn’t have the easiest time making friends. but he was a kind boy who was around your age and made it easy for you to form a bond with him. after all those years, neither one of you had changed that much. you were still reserved at heart but, he was the one who pushed you to things that you both could enjoy. 

one is joining the high school volleyball club together. you weren’t usually one to go outside of your comfort zone, but with him, you felt like you could do anything. he had you fuel your enthusiasm and you had him to thank for that. volleyball ended up being a great idea because it was quite a versatile sport that anyone could play. you found that you were quite athletic and took a liking to the libero position. there was just something exciting about digging a ball off the ground and rolling on the floor to get back up again. also, it looked pretty cool. 

so that was great until you hurt your shoulder during a game, which ended up being more severe than it seemed. now you couldn’t lift your left arm very far over your head unless you wanted to dislocate your shoulder again. it was already a tough recovery period because all you wanted to do was get back to the game. 

he was there with you for the entirety of it and even though he mostly encouraged you, he had to make sure you knew you wouldn’t do anything to hurt yourself. you felt helpless. it was the lowest he had ever seen you and he did everything he could to lift you back up again.

that was something you could never take for granted with him. 

the thing about you and suga is that you were in constant contact, especially during school. if it wasn’t sending each other funny memes or tiktoks, you were either on snapchat with each other or texting. sometimes simultaneously. 

are you alive?? 

yeah i’m awake, unfortunately

what do u want sugar-wara 

whoa how are you up this early lol and sugar is my thing ok

let’s go get sweet buns before class

ur right, it is ur thing. ur sugar-wara

okay i’ll meet you by the light in 15 

there was a lonely intersection in your neighborhood with a red stoplight that seems to have malfunctioned and now the light never stops blinking. you and suga lived on the same street, with the intersection being a perfect place to literally meet in the middle. 

“hey, sugar-- uh oh. someone doesn’t look so sweet today!”

he was always so peppy in the mornings. 

“yeah, well, maybe if someone didn’t wake me up with their annoying texts..”

“if you really don’t want to be woken up, you’d put your phone on do not disturb. you can thank me later for being your alarm clock.” 

he gave you a bright smile and a few head pats before you set off down the road to your favorite bakery which happened to be on the way to school. you didn’t go every morning, but most days it was necessary for you to start your day off right. 

“how’s the team looking this year, mr. vice captain?”

“pretty good, actually! four first years joined the team and one of them’s over six feet tall. our blocks will be unstoppable!”

 there were several things you loved about suga but, if there was one thing you enjoyed most, it was hearing him get psyched about volleyball. even though you couldn’t play anymore, his undying enthusiasm for the sport made you feel like you were living through him vicariously. 

“and there’s one who’s on the shorter side, only a little taller than noya. but he seems to have so much energy and drive, it’s just-- i don’t know, i have a feeling we could actually make it to nationals this year.” 

“wow, that’s great!” 

“you should come to practice and see them! also we just got asahi back so i need to make sure my sets really land.” 

“kou, you know i love watching you guys but isn’t that what kiyoko’s there for?”

“well, yeah, but you know how i play best!”

“yeah, sure. it’s not like i have anything better to do.” 

“you never let me down!” 

 his smile never let you down. 

it was your senior year of high school and it felt like things were going to be nothing but great.

“so...speaking of you knowing me best,” he started rather hesitantly.

“what would you do if i...made you dinner?”

“i...what?”

“oh, uh, oh, no. not, like, i make you dinner but, like...rei finally agreed to come around tonight and i thought i’d make something for them.”

“oh, um,” you tried to force a smile. “yeah, i think they’d like that.”

“yeah? you don’t think it’s too cheesy or anything? we haven’t hung out very much but i’d thought it would be a nice way to show them that i mean what i feel, you know?”

“yeah, yeah! that sounds perfect, kou..”

if only they knew that they were so lucky. 

you knew about this person, rei. they were your teammate and even a friend at one time. they transferred to karasuno during your second year and you bonded over your shared interest of the libero position. they didn’t get to play much that season until you got injured and had to quit playing. 

to see them fill that position so easily, it made you feel so type of way. a way that suga couldn’t know because even though he was there for you, he couldn’t deny his feelings. you remember when he told you that he liked them. about how he’s liked them ever since they came to karasuno and about how he was nervous to talk to them. 

and guess what?

you encouraged him. you encouraged him to try to pursue someone who you knew and liked, so now you had to hide that you were envious of both their position on the team AND the fact that your best friend is in love with them. 

at first, you tried to look at it as a positive point. you were still friendly with them, but volleyball was the only thing that connected you so you didn’t talk to them that much anymore. but now that suga, the person you’re closest to, was talking to them, it opened up the possibility that you would be able to reconnect with them. you had to be supportive. you were his friend, his closest friend, after all. 

-

the next morning you didn’t wake up from a text from suga. no, it took several snooze buttons to wake you up, which already put you in a bad mood. 

it’s ur turn now. are u alive??

i actually woke up to my alarms, how weird. u must be dead lol 

also have you done the english assignment yet? i need serious help >_<

you weren’t afraid to double, triple, even quadruple text him because more often than not, he did that to you. sometimes he’d even send longish paragraphs as he did later that day when classes had already started. 

hey sorry today has just been filled with fun and thriving and good stuff! rei asked me if i wanted to meet up with them before school last night and they made me some sweet buns and they were soooo good. i think we’re going to eat lunch together with some of their friends from vbc. ugh english sucks for me too. idk why you think i’m good at it

you almost jumped at the gesture to reply. it was never this long that he would go without text you at least one dumb thing. 

haha it’s okay don’t be sorry! so i guess last night went well?

also ur great at english sugar-wara what r u talking about??

it surprised you how quickly they seemed to become so friendly. it was kinda weird that he would already be spending a lot of time with her and now meeting all her friends. he probably already knew of them though, with volleyball and everything. the thoughts of how long you would have to wait for a reply crept in your mind, but that was quickly erased by an elapsed period of only a few minutes. 

yeah it went great! they had never had someone cook for them before, so they really liked it. this morning they told me they’d show me how to make fried eggs bc i said i dont know how to use a stove lol 

wait you made a whole meal for this person and u don’t know how to use the stove??

i used a crockpot and microwave ok :// don’t make fun of me dingus 

well a stove would definitely broaden ur horizons lmao that’s nice it went well though 

thank you i hope its going well 

that conversation was truly the end of the beginning. 

Every day after that seemed to happen the same way. you’d wake up, no text from suga. he hadn’t even replied to what you last said the previous night. you didn’t see him much either, but you knew who he was with probably. you would still stop by at volleyball practice where you did get to see him but they were there also. so you found yourself dipping out a lot more. 

it just felt weird. seeing him talk to someone he didn’t even know before. they didn’t even know him. even when you two were on the team together, they never once showed much interest in him and now it just seemed strange that they would. 

the transition was particularly difficult for you, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. one night you were so overwhelmed with work because you had waited too long to do it. frantically texting suga was an understatement. 

you knew you couldn’t put all your reliance on him but it was weird that he wasn’t replying on a school night as he was just as much a procrastinator as you. you dragged yourself through the night, trying to put together a somewhat coherent speech for english the next day. which, again, started as it had for the past few weeks. you still hadn’t heard from him, but it doesn’t even matter anymore. by the time he replied, it was almost embarrassing on your part. 

oh my god y/n i’m so sorry i didn’t reply sooner. i tried to get all my work done early so i could hang out with rei last night and i was asking my mom for advice and she told me to just pay attention to them as much as possible so i just wanted to be with them, you know? but i really hope you didn’t beat yourself up too much about it and that you got at least a little sleep. i’m sure your speech went well :) 

you sounded desperate for his help and meanwhile, he’s genuinely trying to show someone how much they mean to him. could you look any more stupid? 

you didn’t even want to reply but you felt like you had to. 

no don’t be sorry koshi! if anything i’m sorry i was just super frustrated in the moment and didn’t know what to do. i managed to pull something halfway decent together i think so it’s all okay now 

was it okay though? 

that was when you realized that things would never be the same. you’re his best friend and that’s simply it. you mean something to him, but not the same something that they mean to him. you couldn’t go to him when you help because then you’d be taking his time away from someone who wanted to feel that special meaning. it was a hard pill to swallow, for sure. but there were still several questions that lingered in the potential of what your relationship could be.

isn’t it possible to be both a best friend and a partner at the same time? you didn’t see any problem with it, so why couldn’t it be true? 

-

two weeks past and suga, your best friend, decided to let you in on some news. 

going up against all these powerhouse schools is definitely tough but it’ll help our team in the long run. we’re really amped to play seijoh soon but also i have an s/o now who can come and cheer us on 

WAIT you guys made it official?? when?

haha we’ve been official for like two weeks now 

oh well that’s great! 

(what the actual hell.)

months went by and you saw suga maybe two or three times. and only saw him, usually with the rest of the volleyball team or with rei and their friends. you texted now and then but it wasn’t the same. you had to accept that it wouldn’t be the same, so you did. you had a good group of friends who you spent more of your time with, as well as trying to focus as much as possible on school. entrance exams were coming up and you couldn’t let this be your downfall, even though you and suga had previously talked about possibly going to the same college together. but that wasn’t important anymore. 

you had your priorities and suga had his. 

which was the biggest reason why you decided not to go to the game against aoba johsai. you told him that you would try to make it, if schoolwork and college prep courses would lend you the chance. you were just trying to focus on yourself and work hard in on your own. you still texted him just to show that you still cared. 

sorry i couldn’t make it to the game! how did it go?

we lost :’(( we were so close too 

oh no :( i’m sorry kou. but i know you guys will get them next time!

he never replied, which only made you want to grow further from him. 

summer vacation rolled around and it was about a month out from suga’s birthday. a strange text appeared from someone you didn’t expect. 

Hey so I wanted to get manga for suga for his bday but I cannot for the life of me remember which ones he has so can you try to casually ask him which ones he has? like the next time you guys talk about manga or something?

you felt weird that they were asking for your help, considering that they now spent more time with him than you did. but you weren’t going to completely ignore them either.

to be honest we haven’t talked a whole lot lately but i’ll try to subtly ask him 

Okay awesome thanks!

what were you thinking of getting him?

Deathnote lol nothing original

hmm maybe the new aot volume? 

Yeah, that’s a good one. Or maybe BNHA

yeah that too! do you still want me to ask him? 

Yeah could you? 

yeah sure!

Yay thanks! 

okay i’ll let you know what i find out

going through with this was even worse. if it were you, you’d take him to see his favorite artist in concert. he wasn’t never much of a concert guy but he would talk about how badly he wanted to go see them live. or a more lowkey and personal option would be to customize a crewneck for him. you had a knack for designing and decorating plain-looking clothes and he would try to do it himself but would always remark how much better yours always turned out. 

but this time you’re simply the messenger and wouldn’t get that chance to get him something you know he’d love. not that he wouldn’t like manga, but it just seemed like they weren’t putting a ton of thought into it. maybe you couldn’t blame them though, it had only been a few months that they had been dating. 

that conversation honestly seemed more out-of-the-blue than anything, but you were hoping that suga would be as oblivious as ever. it didn’t even matter in the end because he never even answered your subtle way of asking. you didn’t feel like double texting because a.) you hadn’t done that in months and b.) it seemed too obvious. 

in the end, you did all that you could do and told rei that you had no information to provide, even after a week had passed. that was your, now monthly, interaction with suga that month. 

but it wasn’t like you weren’t thinking about him. 

your interactions moved from text to strictly snapchat, where you would hold streaks for considerable amounts of time. but every time you seemed to break contact with him, you found yourself blaming them. but you couldn’t blame them. they were with him, dating him. they had a right to claim a spot by his side. you had learned to pull back and just live your life. 

but life didn’t want you to have a great time either. albeit through a simple app like snapchat, he was the one asking you if you were okay. at this point, you would probably just deflect but somehow, you found yourself telling him about how you didn’t do so well on your entrance exams, despite having done what you could to prepare for them. you just thought you were so focused to do well, but maybe it was too much focus. you told him it would be alright. another notification came through.

snapchat from sugar wara  

you opened it to a selfie of him, one that was angled upwards to position him looking right up into the camera, his wide hazel eyes being the centerpiece of the photo. the caption simply said, “promise?”

and that was when it happened. you felt something different in your heart like it was knocked around in your chest. you smiled at the simple response and replied, “yeah i promise!!” 

it felt strange, but you finally admitted it, 

you were in love with koshi sugawara. 

timing was, without a doubt, a demise in all of your previous relationship endeavors. you could never seem to get that part right, also coming in too fast or not knowing if you should wait. you had only hoped that someone you liked would like you just as much. so catching feelings for someone, strong feelings at that, was not part of your current life plans. let alone with suga, someone you were, at one point, extremely close to. 

you know so much about him and what scared you was that your confession would be the only one that could mess up whatever relationship you had left with him. why couldn’t you just enjoy where you stood with him? why should your selfish feeling have to get in the way? 

stupid was an understatement as you how you felt. he was still dating rei, and that didn’t look like it was going to end anytime soon. you didn’t know what to do or how to cope. you can fight your feelings, but they can’t change right away. and for as long as you’ve known suga, the history you’ve shared with him, it seemed like these feelings weren’t leaving anytime soon. 

you spent the next couple of weeks trying to get everything out, while simultaneously trying to forget. you vented about it to your friends and while most of them offered advice, you stuck with just remaining stagnant. one of them suggested that you confess to him but that was what you feared most: that your feeling would become so overwhelming that you had to do something impulsive to relieve them. he would probably never talk to you again. there was nothing you could do. he was in a relationship with someone he really likes. why would you try to ruin that for him? 

you didn’t go to any of the preliminaries, mostly because of prep courses and trying to prepare for the next round of entrance exams. you still kept up with suga and saw that they won in the game against seijoh and we now going to the finals against shiratorizawa. you swiped up on his story and typed a simple, “omg that's amazing!! see I knew you guys could do it.” you continue to scroll through your phone, not thinking that much about it until a notification popped up.

sugar wara is typing…

snapchat from sugar wara

yeah it was great! Wish you could have been here though :(

me too! college prep courses seem to have been taking up all my time :P

is there any chance that you could try to find time to come to finals? 

we've been trying to get all the support that we can

plus it would be nice to see a familiar face there :) 

yeah i'll see what i can do to try to be there!

 wymd a familiar face? hasn't rei been going to the prelims?

they have been but we actually broke up about two weeks ago

i sort of initiated it but i promise it's okay

your eyes almost fell out of your head when you read that 2 weeks ago you were talking about how you were in love with him and were and decided to accept that it wasn't going to happen. now you're hearing that at the same time they had broken up? It seemed odd and... bittersweet. 

oh no i'm sorry kou :(

you bit your lip as you couldn't help but ask.

wdym you initiated it tho?

so kageyama has been killing it as our setter especially with his quick attack move with hinata 

rei was worried that i wasn't being treated fairly bc i'm a senior and vice-captain and all that. i tried to reassure them that i just want to see our team thrive and go to nationals but they still were worried about it and would talk about how they would go to games and never see me play once

it's been hard especially that it happened right before the seijoh game and now before finals

yeah i'm sure it's been difficult 

but don't beat yourself don't blame yourself so much! the team needs your support just as much as it needs players. nobody could replace that :)

thanks y/n :) i appreciate you so much

although you thought you would be happy, you can’t help but still feel weird about this whole thing. you felt like the ball was in your court but your bum arm couldn’t receive it properly. your feelings for him had been strong and you felt like you had to pack them all the way so now it just felt wrong to let them flow out again. but now that there was no conflict of interest, did you have to hide your feelings? 

it was more complicated than it was before. you didn't know how anything was going to play out at all and that kinda scared you. you did know one thing though, and that was how to be a loyal friend to suga because that's all you ever were from the start and that's what you could and would be for the future.

-

it was the friday before the finals game. 

you decided to stay late after school to maximize your focus on studying. it seemed to have worked because the sun was going down before you knew it. you wanted to get ahead on work so you could go to the game tomorrow. you and suga had been talking more recently and while it wasn’t as much as it used to be, it was more than it had been in the past several months. 

you quickly gathered up your things and left school for the night. the pretty orange and pink sky lit your way home through the quiet town and into the residential parts. at that point, the dark had met and light and-

“y/n! hey, wait!”

you turned to see none other than suga, jogging up behind you to catch up. you smiled at his sudden presence, looking past him to see the small group of the rest of the team. 

“hey! funny seeing you here.”

“yeah, haha,” he chuckled, catching his breath from suddenly running a considerable distance. “are you going home?”

“yeah.”

“can i walk with you?”

“of course.”

great! so i’m guessing you stayed late at school? you’re still wearing your uniform.”

“oh, yeah,” you affirmed, looking down at your monotonous outfit. “i just wanted to be all caught up on work and studying so i could go to the game tomorrow.”

“oh, yeah? that’s good to hear! yeah, we were-- we just had a late practice. coach left before us but we wanted to stay a little longer.”

“i hope you guys win tomorrow, it seems like you’ve been working really hard.”

“yeah, i hope so too. we’ve come a long way in such a short amount of time, it just feels like we can’t stop now.” 

you nodded in agreement. there was a beat of silence just then, and while it wasn’t awkward, it felt like something was lingering in the air.

“so, um,” he spoke up after several seconds. his eyes met yours and you felt that pang in your chest again, quickly looking away. “it’s been a while, huh?”

“yeah. yeah, it has, i guess,” you laughed lightly. you reached the intersection with the never-ending blinking stoplight and you turned around to face him.

“but i guess i’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“yeah. yeah!”

“okay, get some sleep. goodnight.”

he nodded and you grinned at him before turning around to walk the rest of the way home until his voice stopped you again.

“hey, y/n?”

“yeah, kou?”

he looked down and all around, anywhere but your face.

“i, um, i know things have been kinda weird between for a while but it’s made me realize that i missed you, a lot.”

“yeah, i missed you, too.”

“but it’s also made me realize that i enjoy spending time with you and talking to you. like, even now, just talking to you makes me feel-- i don’t know. it makes me feel at ease like i’m home. and i’d really like to spend more time with you because i, um, i really like you.”

“you, you what?”

“i really like you, sugar.”

in all the ways you had imagined this happening, you never thought that you would feel your face fall to a frown, your heart beating in your ears. something just didn’t sit right with you about it.

“i, i, i don’t know what to say...”

“it’s okay if you don’t! i just wanted to tell you.”

“but why are you telling me this now?”

“do you-- do you not feel the same?”

“no. no! i’ve been wanting to hear you say something like that for so long, it’s just. you broke up with rei not too long ago and-- i don’t know. something isn’t right about it.” you shook your head, unsure of what you were trying to say.

“it’s how i feel,” he shrugged. “i just wanted to tell you and have a good feeling to hold onto to make tomorrow a little easier.”

you looked at him in disbelief.

“oh, so you think you can confess all that to me right before this big game and that i’ll automatically reciprocate those feelings when you just broke up with someone not even a month ago? i’m not a second choice--”

“no, sugar, listen, that’s not how i meant it at all--”

“no sugawara.” those words made him go quiet instantly. you never used his full name, there was always some sort of play on it, so this was serious. 

“maybe that’s not how you meant it, but that’s how i’m taking it. i’ve been wanting to tell you for so long how i felt but i wanted to respect your feelings so i didn’t. so please, respect mine. i’m not the good luck charm that you can just confess to and expect that it’ll all be okay. this just isn’t right. i’m sorry, koshi. 

your voice broke as his name left your lips, tears beginning to fall. you didn’t even give him a chance to respond, a rush of adrenaline telling you to quickly turn and get out of there. 

-

you didn’t get much sleep that night. 

it was hard not to think about your conflicted feelings over suga’s confession. you had hoped for that moment for a long time but the timing simply wasn’t right. how funny and ironic is that? you thought your timing was off. maybe you were meant for each other in that way. you couldn’t help but let your feelings get the best of you and you were beginning to become what you feared most from him. you thought he would immediately reject you and make you feel bad about ever saying anything about how you felt. but the roles are reversed and that was the part that blindsided you the most. 

you didn’t think that how you reacted was wrong but you also couldn’t imagine how he was feeling right now. he just wanted to feel good right before a big game but that backfired right in his face. some might call it karma, but part of you thought he didn’t deserve it. 

the pressure was setting in as the game went into the fifth and final set. what made it worse was kageyama wouldn’t be starting that set, his nose bleeding from the spike he took to the face. suga was genuinely thrilled to be a teacher, a mentor, and a support system for his fellow teammates. he didn’t mind that another, rather talented, setter had joined the team because that meant he wouldn’t have to worry about passing the position over to someone who he thought didn’t deserve it. 

he almost forgot he was actually a player on the team when everyone looked to him to fill in. this was his moment and it just happened to be at the most overwhelming part of this game. Both teams were tired while simultaneously running on pure adrenaline to see who was going to come out on top. 

suga had an opportunity, not only to start the set but be the trailblazer for their success. 

the nerves set in as he held up the paddle with the number nine on it, kageyama holding it up with him for a moment. It was symbolic in a way. suga always thought he’d be passing the baton to him, his successor as karasuno’s official setter, but this felt just as sentimental. Suga hadn’t played much this season but he got to watch the team grow into something that it once was: something great. They’ve had their share of loss and strife but it finally seemed like they had come so far and the only direction they can go is up. 

the nerves set in as he looked around, anywhere to ease them. His eyes automatically went to the team banner, black with the simple word ‘fly’ written over it, where all the school and their supporters were watching. he went down the line quickly but the wave of a hand caught his eye. his eyes shifted back and felt that familiar grin on him.

it was you. 

“c’mon suga! You can do it!”

and so he did. 

once the final ball hit the ground, the room was quiet with shock. it had been tight for most of the game but no one really expected this outcome. they were going to nationals. daichi, suga, and asahi embraced, taking in the satisfying feeling of victory. 

after the awards ceremony, you were buzzing with excitement for them, trying to calmly follow the rest of the crowd out of the gym. you could tell they were somewhere along the hallway as another crowd formed to congratulate the winning team. you weaved in and out of it, even getting on your toes to see if you could spot a familiar head of gray hair. 

you finally caught a glance at him from afar, his smile growing as his eyes locked onto yours.

“y/n!”

you mimicked his expression and found your feet moving quicker than your brain could process. he put in the same amount of haste to meet you in the middle. you both stopped at about an arm’s length away from each other. his flushed cheeks and slightly red but glistening eyes held your smile as you decided to speak first. 

“hey, kou.”

“hey, sugar.”

another minute couldn’t be wasted as you finally crashed into one another. it felt better to hold somebody that you knew and genuinely loved. you could be sure that he felt the same way as he held your body tightly against him. 

heyo haikyuu night! send any requests right here..

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 18: presents

Character A and Character B save Christmas,, percabeth

Percy has never felt as much horror as he does right now. He’s staring at the back of his closet, in complete terror, his heart dropping to the floor. He can’t breathe or hear or see because there’s supposed to be ten presents and he counts nine.

There was a doll missing. An expensive, eating, talking doll that was all his daughter wanted in life. He swears that he had gotten his daughter the present she wanted most, except apparently, he didn’t because it’s not there.

He tries to think about what to do, but the reality of the situation is he really can’t do anything. He’s pretty sure every four-year-old girl on this planet wanted the doll he thought he had sitting in the closet for Christmas. There’s approximately zero chance he’s going to be able to get his hands on it only five days before Christmas, so. He’s screwed.

Percy thinks he has to at least try anyways. He’d nearly ruined Christmas last year because he hadn’t known how to wrap presents, and his neighbor had to help him at three in the morning, which was embarrassing to say the least. He’s determined to not fail that badly this year, and that’s exactly why he’s standing back outside that same neighbor’s door after dropping his daughter off at school.

“I need help,” is the first thing he says when the door swings open.

“Good morning to you too,” Annabeth says.

“I messed up,” he breathes, but he steps forwards to plant a quick kiss on her lips. “I need your help. Desperately.”

“What did you do?”

“You know that doll that my kid’s been talking about for months?”

“The one I have sitting in the back of my car for mine, I’m sure.”

He pauses. “You have one?!”

“You don’t?”

He whines, “I thought I did but turns out I completely forgot to get it.”

She laughs in his face.

“This isn’t funny. This is a Christmas crisis.”

“Yeah. You fucked up.”

“You’re my girlfriend. Aren’t you supposed to help me?”

“Five days before Christmas?” She snorts. “Good luck.”

Percy runs his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “Our girls are at school, so I need you to go shopping with me.”

“What good am I going to be for a doll that you’re going to have to murder someone to get your hands on it?” “Well, you tend to murder people with your eyes. It used to be scary, but now it’s useful.”

“Your master plan is to unleash me in a store so I can commit homicide over a toy?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as we get that doll, so come on.” He waves his keys in her face. “Get in the car.”

She gives him a humored look and opens her door wider. “Come in. I’m going to need a minute.”

Annabeth actually ends up needing twenty minutes, something he helpfully reminds her of as she’s getting dressed. His rush definitely doesn’t stop him from enjoying the view, but the shirt that she throws at his face does.

By the time they’re finally out of the house, they are on a mission. Annabeth’s sitting in the passenger seat of the car, and as Percy rightfully predicted, she is out for blood. Her phone is in her hand as she switches from app to app in search of anyone who has the toy.

Percy’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly. Driving in New York in December is not something he’s ever enjoyed doing with the way people drive like animals, but Christmas is in the line, and he too has turned into an animal.

“Any luck?” he asks hopefully, drifting down the highway.

“A store an hour away says they have it in stock,” she says. “Only one left, so drive fast.”

“Make that twenty minutes,” he says, and then he’s stepping on the gas. It’s a lot of switching in and out of lanes because people don’t understand that he has places to be. Every two seconds, Annabeth screaming out a status update, which has startled him enough to almost crash at least twice.

“It’s still in stock!”

“Yes, thank you babe, because I was sure that it had been sold within the last thirty seconds.”

Annabeth mutters something under his breath, but there’s a faint smile on his face. Despite being as stressed as he is that he’s failed as a father for the second year in a row, he surely loves spending time with her like this. She’s such a cutthroat person, and it warms his heart.

“Oh, someone bought it.”

Percy groans. “Of course they did.”

“Keep driving this way. There’s a store thirty minutes ahead that might have it.” Another beat passes. “Never mind.”

“She’s going to hate me,” he says.

“Probably. Even I know it’s the one thing she wanted more than anything.”

“Way to rub it in.”

“I do it because I love you.”

He feels pretty upset, but the words raise his mood instantly. If his daughter disowns him, at least he has the love of his life to help him through it. “I love you too, even though you like to tease me.” “Just keeping you on your toes.” She shifts in the seat and points further down the road. “Take this exit. We’re going to do this old fashioned.”

He listens. “Old fashioned?”

She grins. “We’re going to a toy store.”

The second they walk in, Percy feels like sneezing. It’s a bit dustier than he would like, and the lightest isn’t the best, but there aren’t many people there, so he thinks he at least has a chance of finding the toy. Annabeth slides her hand into his as they stroll around, and he pulls her closer into his side. He tries to keep his eyes looking for the toy, but he quickly learns that it wasn’t going to help. The toys here didn’t seem to be the most up-to-date, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s come to terms that that toy is just not happening. He’ll probably end up compensating for it with an overload of different toys, so he uses this time instead to enjoy time alone with Annabeth. They’re usually with their kids whenever they’re together, and their girls have quickly become best friends (much to his delight — he thinks he might want to marry Annabeth), so it’s nice to be alone outside of the house.

Not that he minds being inside the house alone either, if you know what he means. He thinks there should be a healthy balance.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, bumping his shoulder. He shrugs. “Just disappointed. She was so excited for it.”

“Let’s go try another place then,” she says, turning in his arms. He instinctively wraps his arms around her waist, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Let’s just go home and snuggle instead,” he says. “I don’t think we’re going to be finding that toy anytime soon.”

“I don’t mind snuggles,” she tells him, smiling. “But let’s try one more place, yeah? Or we can get something to eat?”

It’s not until she mentions food that he realizes how hungry he really is. He doesn’t remember eating at all that day, too in a rush in the morning, and the afternoon being no different. He kisses her softly again. “Let’s go on a Christmas lunch date.”

That Christmas lunch date ends up being in the front seats of his car, but he’s not picky. They’re in the parking lot of wawa, Annabeth with mac n cheese in her hands, and Percy with a cheeseburger. As she eats, Percy keeps his eyes on her. Everything she does is so cute, including eating, and he doesn’t know if it’s normal to feel this way about someone. Her cheeks are still hinted pink from when they’d been outside ten minutes prior, and she’s still wearing a knitted hat. She looks so warm that he desperately wants to pull her onto his lap and just hold her.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, spoon hovering in front of her mouth.

Percy smiles at her fondly. “You.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” he says. “And you’re so pretty all the time.”

“All the time?”

“All the time,” he confirms, setting his food aside so he can lean towards her, nuzzling his face in her neck. He kisses the soft skin twice. “When you wake up, and when you fall asleep, you’re always so perfect.”

“You watch me sleep?” she teases.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “You don’t stay over every night. Otherwise, I would cuddle you to sleep every day.”

“Sounds dreamy.”

“It would be.” He pulls his head off of her so he can look her in the eyes. Overwhelming love stares back at him, and for a moment, he cannot think of anything except her. She’s so beautiful and perfect, and it’s taken him this long to find her. She’s there for him, and she loves his daughter, and he loves hers. She drops everything to go on a run to save Christmas with him, and he’s in love with her.

He wants to fall asleep to her and wake up to her. Not just sometimes, but every night and every morning. He wants to wake up on Christmas morning to their kids bouncing on their bed to wake their parents up, to share a look with her that screams ‘tired but in love’ with each other and the life they’ve created.

“Move in with me,” he blurts out.

Annabeth laughs. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he says, sitting up straighter. “Let’s move in together. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together, and… I want to marry you someday.”

She blinks, and he feels panic take over for a second before she smiles again, teeth sparkling and white. “Percy… are you being serious?” He laughs. “I am.”

“You want to move in with me?”

“I do.”

Annabeth stares at him for a second, unmoving, before she’s rushing forwards, pressing her lips to his. He responds enthusiastically, his heart fluttering, having him feel lightheaded in the best way possible. “Let’s move in together,” she mutters against him, and Percy can’t stop smiling. Teeth clash, but he can’t find it in him to quell the grin.

He’s pretty sure people are walking by outside the car wondering why they’re practically making out in the car, but they stay like that anyways until they can no longer breathe.

“I love you,” he says. “Thank you for trying to help me save Christmas.”

“Help you save Christmas?”

“Mission objective failed. There’s going to be no doll under that tree.”

“Okay, so…” Annabeth’s tongue presses out slightly between her lips as she bites down to smother a smile. “What if I told you that I actually have two of them?”

“I’m sorry. You what?”

“I had a feeling you might forget, so I just got two of them.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know I’m a god.”

“I can’t believe you let me drive around the city for hours for no reason!”

“It wasn’t for no reason! I wanted to spend time with you!”

“We could have spent time together doing something more romantic than panicked Christmas shopping!”

“I didn’t want to do something else,” she says. “This was perfect. More realistic.”

“You’re a little tease, you know that?”

She pokes his cheek, and he nips lightly at her finger. “Yeah, but you still want to move in with me anyways.”

“Now that you’re going to give me the present that saves Christmas? How could I not?”

She leans across the center console so she can kiss him properly. “You could always just marry me instead.”

“The thing is I’m actually considering it,” he says playfully, though he’s telling the truth. “I could get down on one knee right now.”

She grins and kisses him again. “Next Christmas,” she says, sounding a lot like a promise. He doesn’t mind waiting until next Christmas. He has everything he needs right here in front of him. “Next Christmas, I’m going to make you my wife.”

Annabeth’s fingers run through his hair and pull him in closer. “I’ll be waiting,” she says, and Percy just knows they’re going to live an amazing life together.

The person he fell in love with is the person that helped him save Christmas, and he doesn’t mind one bit.