#but you don’t mind about it possibly being decades old or belonging to someone else. you can share it with other people even strangers

[elodieunderglass]

Tumblr users rising to the challenge . You’ll note the recurring theme

Step 1: go on an entirely optional adventure

Step 2: get into an unpleasant condition in bad weather

Step 3: become very uncomfortable and hateful

Step 4: Kendal mint cake

Step 5: access stratosphere with tits blown off

Step 6: summit

Step 7: say “that was lovely”

a single andes chocolate mint from the olive garden can fully nourish an adult human for up to 96 hours

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

I’ve Seen Sparks Fly — 18+

Summary: Spencer Reid has never felt sparks fly until you came along. He’s not used to not knowing things, but just may prove himself to be a quick learner.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (female, I'm pretty sure there's no references to pronouns)

Word Count: 5685

Content Warnings: Kissing, grinding, premature ejaculation, marking Spencer’s chest, fingering, love confessions

Note: I hope you enjoy this! I really wanted to get another fic out before I start my 1 year anniversary celebration, Love Letters From Spencer. There is still time to submit your name for one. Just fill out this Google Form and you'll receive one in the coming weeks. And a special thank you to @reidsbookclub for helping me with the ending! I love you very much, Grecy! :)

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I've Seen Sparks Fly

Spencer ventured down in the basement, ready to come back hauling decades old cold cases. What he didn’t expect was to find a chance at that fairytale in a place where the sunshine can’t reach them. There was a single light that hung over their heads and a large desk with papers spread across the surface. For a man that can remember everything, Spencer couldn’t recall any words from your conversation. All he knows is that he stumbled through the conversation.

He hums to himself, trying to quell the nerves that arise all the way from his stomach to the tip of his head. Spencer’s never had much luck with romance. From being the weird kid in the back of the class with a mind decades older than the rest of the class to being the weird kid with something to prove in the FBI, Spencer has never felt like he’s belonged anywhere. The characters in his books kept him company. Spencer spent ages dreaming of the day when someone would float off the pages of the books and into his heart. And now that that was true, his hands shake in a way that he cannot explain. He’s not usually this way, he’s pretty good about keeping his emotions under control. But there’s something about you that makes him the good kind of nervous.

His heart would thump out of his chest, like it did when you fixed his tie. You got so close Spencer swore he could see where the colored part of your eye met your pupil. He could smell your perfume, light and citrusy and he never wanted to smell anything else. You whispered into his ear, even though there wasn’t a need to whisper alone in the basement.

“There,” you said, patting his chest and his now-straightened tie, “Now you look even more handsome,” you add, smiling up at Spencer and positively reveling in the way Spencer’s cheeks flush red.

He has a habit of doing that around you, which he’s surmised is something you enjoy based on your nonverbal body language. Spencer shakes his head, internally chiding himself for analyzing you. He can’t treat you like a face on a wall, not when you’ve got the possibility to mean so much more to him one day. One day very soon, by the way you look at him.

“Handsome?” Spencer says, still fixated on that compliment, despite his near constant inner thoughts spilling over in his mind, “I’m pretty sure the last time someone called me handsome was picture day in the second grade. My mother had me wear my grandfather’s bowtie,” he says.

“You are the handsomest,” you reply, reaching down to grab his hand and squeeze. You walk in tandem and Spencer has to stop himself from skipping, “And you’re going to hear it more often. Maybe a lot tonight?”

Somehow he caught the tone in your voice and it made him stop right in his tracks. You stumble and he catches you by the elbow, apologizing for nearly making you fall. Again, he blushes. And again you seem to like it. You stand on your tiptoes, placing a kiss on his cheek. It’s soft and sweet, yet it burns into his skin and he hopes it lingers even if you don’t.

“Sorry,” Spencer apologizes, “I’m still not used to all this….” he says, the words failing to articulate. Or rather, he fails to say it because if he says it then it’s real. It would be that first good thing he gets, and like most good things they are fated to never last. So Spencer lets you finish his sentences, which, he’ll admit is something he could get used to.

“Affection?” you say, smiling at him and healing the wounds that have yet to fester, “Love. Attention. Compliments. I could go on,” you tease, sneaking under his arm to force him to walk closer with you to the elevator.

“Yes,” he says, nodding as he presses the button to go back to the bullpen, “All of the above, Y/N,” he adds, a layer of uncertainty plaguing his thoughts. You quell it as you twist your fingers in the fabric of his cardigan and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Come over tonight,” you whisper, waiting for the familiar ding of the elevator, “And maybe we can make pancakes in the morning?”

“Pancakes?” Spencer asks, looking at you and trying to decipher your exact meaning. You know he’s not the best with hidden meanings, but maybe you’re also a little nervous too, based on the way you shy away from him and lower your voice again, despite already being alone, “In the morning?” he adds, the meaning finally hitting him.

“Yeah,” you whisper, walking towards the now open elevator with Spencer still holding your hand, “I really like you, Spencer. Like the kind of like you that will turn into love you. Some day. Some day really soon. And I want to spend every waking moment with you. And every moment I’m not awake too,” your rambling abruptly stopped by Spencer’s lips pressing firmly against your’s.

He can tell you’re taken by surprise, but he can’t help but act on his sudden burst of courage. You’ve kissed plenty of times in the 5 dates that you’ve had already and Spencer has found himself reliving every second of it afterwards. From the way your hands press up against his chest to the way you sigh into his lips. He’s been denied this kind of love and affection for so long and he’ll be damned if he lets himself go another 23 years.

Breaking the kiss, Spencer smiles as he rests his head against your forehead. It’s almost like he’s in a movie because the elevator doors shut and they rush upward to the upper level. You giggle, something Spencer promises himself that he’ll commit to memory. He brings his hand to your cheek, shaking slightly despite his new found confidence. You place your hand on top of his hand, brushing gently against the rough side of his hand. It’s these quiet, yet charged moments like this that makes Spencer’s head spin.

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” you joke, smirking as Spencer tries to gather himself together for the inevitable teasing that will ensue when you walk him back to his desk next to Elle and across from Derek.

Spencer had changed his tie three times before the clock read 7. The first one felt like it was choking him, the second one clashed with his shirt, and the third one would just have to do. He even asked Penelope to print out instructions for him to learn how to style his hair in different ways, though he made her swear to never tell Elle or Derek the reason why he needed the print outs. The ink from the paper bled in splotches from the mixture of water and hair gel on his counter. Spencer went to his local drugstore, looking for the specified hair products and came out with an armful of totally unnecessary products.

The gel was sticky in his fingers, but he still slicked it through his hair, remembering how you complimented him on his hair that day. Hotch had sent him and Derek to the basement, when the Bureau’s archivists worked. Only cold cases, suddenly reopened, would bring the team down there. In the three months that Spencer had been working with the BAU, he never ventured into the basements. In his mind, working with old case files and ensuring the protection of evidence seemed like the kind of job someone like him should have. He was still a baby in the team’s eyes, especially Derek’s.

When Derek and him walked down to the very bottom of the building, Spencer had no clue what to expect. His mother always told him that he had a very overactive imagination. He also was a hopeless romantic. Even though he’s never had someone love him back, he’s found himself loving others countless of times. Maybe it’s wishful thinking or a deep seeded desire to live out a fairytale. His fairytale isn’t much; maybe someone to brush his hair from his eyes and kiss away the wounds that bruise his skin and draw stars around his scars.

Spencer goes through the motions and he almost feels like he’s moving underwater. He walks around his tiny apartment making sure his shoes are tied, getting the cardigan that you always compliment him on, and making sure that Joules has cat food in her bowl. He’s hardly even aware of what he’s doing, too busy worrying about what’s in store when he gets to your house.

Spencer, reminding himself to breathe, takes one last look into the mirror on the wall in his hallway. He’s never been one to particularly enjoy his physical appearance, but when he looks in the mirror, the only thought that rests in his mind is if you’ll like the hairstyle he copied in the print out that Penelope gave him.

“Don’t you look handsome,” you say, holding open the screen door to your front porch. Your house is exactly what he’d expect from you. Wildflowers grow haphazardly in your front yard and a small garden peaks from the back yard. Your house is painted in a warm, welcoming yellow with rain gray shutters. It’s the kind of house that people from fairytales live in. It’s the kind of house that Spencer would like to grow old in.

His cheeks burn at the compliment and he resigns himself to a fate of wanting to brush them all away with a bemused expression while craving the sweet little compliments in the same motion. You look at him, smiling from the top of the porch with the screen door resting against your back. So confident and sure, it’s the kind of reckless that should send him running because how on Earth can someone like you love someone like him. No matter how many times you’ve called him cute in the basement of the building, no matter how many times you’ve kissed him across a table at the 24/7 diner, no matter anything he still has a hard time believing you. But he’s more than willing to let you become the first person to prove him wrong.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer says, sheepishly as he bounces up the steps to you. You open your arms and stand on your tiptoes, hugging him like you’ve spent months apart. He desperately wants to melt into the hug. Spencer can’t remember the last time he felt safe in someone’s arms since he’s met you.

He’ll be the first to admit that you’re the first person to hug him in years. He never knew just how hard it could be to go without human touch until you came along. It’s almost overwhelming how comforting it is to know that he’ll never have to know that absence again.

“I missed you,” you whisper into his chest, your mouth moving against the soft fabric of his cardigan. You hug him so tight that you clasp your hands around him. Spencer knows that you can’t stay out here on the porch forever, but he wants to, “Sorry,” you apologize, “I’m a big hugger and I know that you’re a little wary about physical contact–”

“Oh no!” Spencer exclaims, letting himself out of your tight hug to look at you. His hands fall naturally into the crook of your elbows, holding you gently he racks his brain for an explanation that doesn’t make him sound as in love with you as he actually is, “I love you…your hugs, I love when you hug me, I mean,”

You smile and with that Spencer swears to himself that the stars in the nighttime sky could never compare. He forces himself to stop thinking about those loving things like that. Spencer swallows his fears, yet he can’t stop thinking about how your hair falls into place like dominos. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? He’d never know. Spencer’s not used to not knowing things. And even though he may not believe it, he trusts you as you lead him into your house.

The movie has been playing on your television for precisely 34 minutes and 8 seconds. And for 34 minutes and 8 seconds your hands have not left his body. When you first led him up the stairs, Spencer’s eyes nearly burst out of his eye sockets. But like all the times you’ve whisked him away for secret kisses at work or reached for his hand as you passed in the hallway, you quell his fears with your lyrical eyes and a squeeze of his hand. It’s magical and a miracle how you can both steady his heart and nearly cause an aneurysm in one touch. He wonders if that is what love is supposed to be. Dreading your touch because he knows what it brings out in him, but craving it in the same token.

Your hands massage his scalp, and Spencer can feel himself drift off into a comfortable lull. He wonders silently to himself if he’ll ever figure out the kind of shampoo you use. It’s a little citrusy, like oranges and grapefruit. But there’s also a sweetness to it that he can’t quite describe. Whatever it is Spencer wants it to linger on his skin so he can take a part of you home with him to make his bed seem a little less lonely.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice similar to how it was down in the basement that you work in, “But I can’t even tell you the main character’s name and I’ve seen this movie before,” you say, your wry chuckle making you, yet again, unreadable.

“Why?” Spencer asks, turning to face you, your legs are intertwined in the bed, twisted up in bedsheet as the night slips away in a moment in time, “I mean, me too,” he adds, very aware of his hand that rests on your waist. He plays with your soft tee-shirt, a very worn down college shirt from long ago.

“You’re just very distracting,” you say back, brushing a piece of his hair from his face. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose and you’re half clear and half blurry. Spencer’s not sure if it’s because of his lack of good vision or because you make his head spin with your sweet shampoo and with your body pressed up next to his, “You make me so nervous, Spence. You’re so handsome and I just don’t want to mess this up,” you say, the earnestness in your voice is like looking into a mirror.

“Let me kiss you?” Spencer says, even though it comes out more like a question than a request, “Please,” he adds, implicitly aware of how his voice turns up with nerves and anxiety, “You’re the beautiful one, Y/N,” he adds, moving his face to eclipse your view of the television. You read the unreadable, nodding slightly just in time as your lips meet his.

Spencer has kissed you a total of 44 times. Between five dates, secret make-out sessions in the cover of the Bureau basement, and all the times in the stairwell between his office and your department, it’s safe to say that though you’ve kissed him plenty of times, he’ll never grow tired of it. It’s flawless and Spencer can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

“You’re the beautiful one, sweetheart,” you whisper, using that little name that has never failed to make his heart skip, “It’s crazy to think you’ve never done this before. You really must be a genius,”

Your lips cover his, gliding over his lips like ice skates on an icy pond. Your fingers are buried in hair, tugging and digging into any piece of him you can grab. You break away from lips, moving down to his jawline. Your fingers tickle his neck and he’s hyper aware of his entire being and what’s bound to happen when your lips are so soft against his skin and your hands tug at his hair.

“Y/N,” Spencer says, your name coming out more strained and needy than he intended, but he has to say it quickly before he loses control and embarrasses himself with his underwhelming lack of restraint, “Please, Y/N. The way that you kiss me. Touch me. It’s driving me crazy. You drive me crazy,”

“I know, baby,” you whisper into his ear maneuvering yourself so you hover over Spencer’s body. His hips instinctively flex up, desperate for the very friction and contact that you deny him, “Look at you? All pretty like this for me. You just need to be taken care of, lovey,”

Lovey

Between your touch that stings like a thousand bees and your voice heals like honey from the gods, Spencer doesn’t know how much longer he can control himself. You must be enjoying seeing him fall apart like this, and Spencer has to admit he loves it too. As long as you’re the one to put him back together, he’ll let you ruin him a million times over and over.

Smiling, you remove your hands from his face, messing up his neatly gelled hair in the process. He makes a mental note that you seem like his hair messier. It’s been years since he’s let his hair just be and you might just be the reason he’ll start again. Your next movement is what catches him off guard. His hands come up to your now bare waist as you rid yourself of your tee shirt. The pads of this fingertips brush over your soft skin. He revels in how your skin goosebumps at his touch, happy to know that his touch has nearly the same effect as you do one him.

“Like what you see?” you ask, smiling like a Chesire cat as Spencer looks at your bare chest. His hands hover over your breasts, unsure if you're even real in the first place, “You can touch me, sweetheart. You can touch me all you want,” you reassure him, bringing his hands to your breast by his wrists.

“Can I kiss you? Can I kiss you there?” Spencer asks, his earnest question making your skin crawl with anticipation. You nod, still hovering over him like some twisted guardian angel.

“Please,” you say, half begging, half demanding, “I’m all yours anyway, lovey,”

Spencer, shifting upwards so his back rests against the pillows, is acutely aware of how hard he is. If anything, he almost wants to commend himself at not coming undone yet. It’s reasonable, considering this is the first time anyone has sat on his lap like this, calling him names he’s only heard in the sweetest of daydreams.

He leans forward so he can kiss your breasts. Initially, you’re taken aback by his sudden burst of confidence. Spencer leaves wet kisses across your skin and his hand, warm and large against your back, steadying you as you shake with hope for what’s to come. But, as Spencer suspects, you still hold the upper hand. Just as he forms a skilled pattern of kisses and nipping at your skin, you grind down onto his hips.

“God, oh, god,” Spencer says, his strangled moans telling he’s finally lost any semblance of control he had, “I’m sorry, Y/N. Damn it,” Spencer curses, covering his face with his hands in humiliation. The embarrassed part of himself expects you to leap from his lap with a sinister laughter. But when that doesn’t come, Spencer peaks out from under his hands.

“What are you apologizing for?” you ask, still hovering over his body with a confused expression on your face, “Is it because you came? Hmm? Just from kissing my boobs? And me grinding on your dick?” you continue, licking your lips as Spencer nods his head in continued embarrassment.

You grip his wrists, kissing his hands fervently. Looking at him, Spencer is able to read your expression. You aren’t annoyed or disgusted or anything of the sort. Instead, you lean down, still putting pressure between your hips, and kiss his face. Your lips skim over his eyes, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his forehead and down to his neck. You break, breathing in heavily, leaning against his forehead to drink him in.

“Don’t ever apologize for that, lovey. It was hot,” you tell him, and Spencer can do nothing but nod in understanding.

“Yes,” he says, smiling as he finds himself growing more and more comfortable with you, “Can I try with you?” Spencer asks, a layer of confidence poking through his shy exterior.

“Of course,” you tell him, “But first let me do something,” you say, as you toss off his cardigan and unbutton his shirt, “You have too many layers on,”

Spencer chuckles in agreement, not fully realizing how hot it’s gotten in your bedroom. The television still plays in the background, but it’s nothing but warbled gibberish. Spencer places his hands against your waist again, but the hesitation to touch you still lingers. He watches as you undo his buttons, terrified for you to see him without a shirt on for the first time. Spencer doesn’t like thinking about the time he’s been shirtless in front of people.

He expects you to look at him with a hint of disappointment, but you don’t. Your finger traces against his skin, making him shiver with anticipation. You smile and whisper words of praise that he can’t quite make out when your lips dip down to his neck.

“I know I’m not much,” Spencer says, the nerves making his voice seem even more scared than he is. He’s never thought of himself as attractive or worthy of love. Spencer supposes that if you go through your entire life without any romance you lose that ability to see yourself worthy of it in the first place. But then again, all he can think of at the moment isn’t all the what ifs and things he’s missed out one. All he can think of is you, looking at him if what he believes are the rosiest colored glasses.

“Don’t say that, lovey,” you whisper, leading your lips dangerously close to his chest. You kiss him, murmuring against his skin, “you’re not allowed to talk bad about the person I love,” you say, continuing to leave marks on his skin. He bites his lip, unsure if you want to hear how much you affect him. A mixture of fear and arousal and temptation courses through his veins.

“Love?” Spencer repeats, the question lingering in the air, “you love me? You love me back?” he says it again like he can’t believe it, but needs to hear it.

“Of course, Spencer. Of course I love you,” you say, whispering against his skin. You continue to leave marks that will bruise my morning. He looks up, watching you with a blissed out look that makes him seem like he’s floaty high above the clouds, “I love you so much,” you whisper, sitting back up against his hips.

“I love you,” Spencer whispers, he’s quiet in the stillness of your room

Spencer looks down at his chest, licking his lips as he sees the plethora of marks you’ve left on his skin. Several bright red marks lay on his upper chest in the shape of a heart. He groans at the realization, which in turn makes you laugh. It’s a sound that delights him.

“See, now you’ll have something to remind you that you belong to him,” you tell him, sitting back on your heels as you help him out of the confines of his pants.

“Please, Y/N,” Spencer says, and though the words aren’t able to articulate immediately, he has a sneaking suspicion that you know what he wants, “I want to make you feel good too,” he requests, his eyes glazed with love and hazy with need.

“Do you?” you chide, “Do you want to feel how good you make me feel?”

“Please,” Spencer begs, whining as you crawl off his legs so he can shimmy out of his pants. You giggle at his eagerness and kiss his cheek. The innocent gesture makes him burn red, something that you’d probably call charming or endearing.

Sitting in his underwear, Spencer watches as you rid yourself of your sweatpants. He’s never seen a anyone naked before and he's not so secretly thankful for his memory. He wishes it was like a movie though, that he’d be able to replay this moment over and ever. Anytime he was sad or lonely he’d be able to listen to your voice calling him sweet names and feel your touch comforting him.

Your lamp sits to his right and the warm, yellow light gives you an incandescent glow. He wants to reach out and touch every curve, every wrinkle and line on your skin. He wants to feel all of you in the places you’re soft and the places you hide from the rest of the world. He wonders to himself if this is what it’s like to meet your soulmate. His heart feels full for the first time, he feels completed.

“You can touch me, Spence,” you whisper, crawling towards him so you sit next to him with your legs and his legs in opposite directions, “I’m all yours, anyway, my love,”

Spencer nods, untrusting of his voice at the moment to reveal all the sweet, yet sinful things he wants to do to you. He feels it in his head, the rush of possibility coupled by the anxiety of desire. It’s like he can feel the sparks fly between the two of you.

“I–I want you to enjoy it,” Spencer whispers, “I just, I’m a virgin. I guess you probably could have guessed that by now,” he muses, “I’m not sure if you’ll still want me,”

You look at him with a broken smile and all the stars in your eyes, “Spencer,” you say his name with this breathless tone that’s already stolen his heart, “We don’t have to go that far, lovey. We have so much time. I’m not letting you go anytime soon. Is there anything you want to do? Hmm, you can tell me, sweetie. I’m not going to judge you?”

His lips feel dry and the words threaten to die in his throat, but there’s also an almost overwhelming amount of love that overtakes him. You kiss his hands, bringing them up to your lips.

“Can I touch you?” Spencer asks, “I just want you to feel good too?” he says, his cheeks flushing at the thought of seeing you come undone at his hands.

“You want to finger me?” you clarify, the crudeness of your words making his entire chest burn crismon. The heart made of hickeys that adorns his chest turns a deeper red and Spencer’s skin feels like it’s going to melt off his body, “With these hands? How could I refuse an offer like that?,” you tell him.

“Please, baby,” Spencer says, the name slipping from his lips before he gets the chance to stop himself. You must like it because you give him a quick kiss on his hands before bringing them to the waistband of your underwear.

“Trust your instincts,” you tell him, offering a word of wisdom, “I love you so much, Spencer that whatever you do it’s probably going to get me off,” you say, your words making Spencer groan with desire.

He brushes his index finger against the fabric of your underwear. Spencer can feel them dampen at his stimulation. He looks at you for advice, but finds you closing your eyes and biting your lip at his touch. Spencer, timid, yet eager, dips his hand through your waistband. He drags your underwear off your legs and gets a boost of confidence when he watches you kick them the rest of the way off.

You mirror his movements as you nibble on his lip, slipping your hand into his underwear as you graze your fingers over his leaking cock. Spencer groans into your shoulder, cursing at the feel of your hands on him. He watches intently as your wrist moves up and down, closing his eyes like he’s hearing a prayer.

“God, you are so hot like this, Spencer. Come on, my sweet boy,” you coo, “I’m not made of glass. I love you so much,” you remind him, kissing along the sensitive markings you made. He groans, hands fisting at the sheets.

He nods, bringing his index finger to your clit grazing against the spot that he knows is a bundle of nerves. It’s not nearly enough, but he knows that. He dips his finger into your folds, feeling himself grow hard again from hearing you whimper from pleasure. Spencer isn’t sure where to look. It’s mesmerizing to watch his finger disappear inside you, but in the same token, you look so beautiful he doesn’t want to miss the way your face contorts with pleasure.

“Oh my god,” you pant, tugging on his hair with one hand. His glasses are askew at his point and his hair is sweaty, but he hardly notices it, “Holy fuck, Spencer,” you curse, as he introduces another finger, making your gasp out loud.

“You are so beautiful,” Spencer says, watching you as he continues to pump in and out with his two fingers. The base of his hand grazes against your clit with the tiniest bit of pressure, “So beautiful,” he says again, twisting himself to kiss you.

“Do you feel how wet you make me?” you whisper, “That’s all you, baby. It’s only for you,” you tell him, your lips meeting him as he continues to finger you, “God, I’m so close,” you pant.

You break from his hair, reaching down to cup his face with pure adoration and love coursing through you. Spencer deepens the kiss, wanting to be closer than is humanly possible. He feels your hands tighten against his face, telling him that you’re nearing your climax. He takes his time, finally finding a rhythm that nearly makes your scream. His thumb rubs circles against your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. He can’t help but grind against your leg, feeling himself approach his own release.

“That’s it,” you tell him, encouraging him to continue, “Oh fuck. Spencer,” you cry out, peppering kisses over his face, blinding him with love and affection. He feels you tighten against his fingers and his eyes are glued to your face. Spencer’s eyes scan over your features. The way sweat collects against your brow, the way you flutter against his finger, and the way your moans ricochete in his mind. He tries to soak it all in. You come against his hand with his fingers still working for you to meet your climax.

It’s almost too much for him and he can’t hardly wrap his mind around what it will be like to actually have sex with you. He feels his cheeks flush at the very thought still. You rest your forehead against his bare chest, heaving with exhaustion. Spencer, reluctantly removes his fingers that are covered in your release. He brings them to his mouth, tasting you on his tongue. You catch it from the corner of your eye, moaning at that sight.

Spencer, unsure what to say, besides an I love you, laughs. He rests his head against the pillows and brings his hands to hover over your back. You lean into him, Spencer kisses whatever exposed skin he can. You’re hot against his lips like molten fire, but somehow you quench his thirst.

“I really do love you,” Spencer says, letting the words hang in the air. His mouth feels dry and it’s like his entire body is on fire, “thank you for being patient with me though, “ I’m sorry I didn’t want to go all the way,” Spencer says, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing.

He whispers the tiniest “I love yous” into your skin with kisses. You sit up on your elbows, staring at him. He can see the color of your eyes, thinking to himself that he wants to take you to the nearest paint store to figure out what color they are. Because when he does he’ll paint the entire city that beautiful color.

“Lovey,” you whisper, kissing the bridge of his nose, “I loved what we did today. I’m gonna love you for a lifetime. And then some. Spencer, we have—”

“Forever,” Spencer says, cutting you off and making you smile yet again.

“Forever,” you repeat, leaning your head up to kiss along his jawline, “But you have nothing to worry about, Spencer. God, I don’t think anyone’s gotten me off that fast,” you say a new tremble in your voice, making Spencer smirk with confidence, “Where have you been hiding these from me?” you ask, grabbing his hands, smiling at him with a look that he could only describe as madly in love.

“So I’m ‘God’ now,” Spencer remarks, tracing against your spine as both your heart rates come back to normal, “I’ll take it, even if I prefer lovey or sweetheart,” he teases, twisting his neck to see your bemused expression.

You peck his lips, unable to resist him when he’s so comfortably relaxed like this, “Oh shut up,” you chide, “You’re such a dork,”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork, darling,” Spencer retorts, finally fixing his glasses that are perpetually crooked. His hair is matted against his forehead and his underwear is beyond ruined, “I really hate to end this moment, but I’d really like to shower,” he asks, the nervousness back as quick as it left, “I don’t want to be a bother,”

You roll your eyes, swinging your legs over the bed as your stand. Spencer can’t help but pride himself on your lack of initial balance. He follows your lead, swinging his legs as he stands.

“As long as you’ll hold me when we get out of the shower,” you request, the implications hitting Spencer like a ton of bricks, “And maybe I’ll let you use my shampoo,”

Spencer, sitting on the bed, watches you head into the bathroom before him. It’s adjoining your bedroom and is painted a whimsical green. He can see framed embroidery decorating the wall and glass jars of sweet smelling flowers. He hears you laugh in the distance and finally thinks that he may just have found his home. Your smile, the shy one in the basement, the coy one you gave him in the elevator when he kissed you, the smirk that plays on your lips when you tease him , the deliriously happy one that he knows you wear now, every one of them replays in his head. Whenever you smile, it seems, Spencer can’t help but smile too.

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I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks​

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

[crispyjenkins]

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

  “Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

-

  By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

  The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

  And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

  “Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

  Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

  The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

  “Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

  Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

  Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

  And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

-

  Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes. 

  The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

  Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

  “I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

  “And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

  Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

  Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

  “He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

  “He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

  Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

  Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

  Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

  He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

  “I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

  “Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

  “Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

  “Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

  Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

-

  “Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

  “Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

  The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

  “I did.”

  “I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

  Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

  Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

  Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice. 

-

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir —  an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity  laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”. 

[soulmate-game]

It had been a trip to Metropolis. Why would Francois-Dupoint go to Gotham, a crime-ridden city crawling with danger and supervillains, vigilantes that toed the line of being bad influences, and a really high chance of lawsuit, when they could go to the city of Superman himself?

Exactly. No good reason.

At least, that was what they all thought. Marinette’s parents even volunteered to chaperone, deciding that they could survive shutting the bakery down for one week. Marinette had helped raise enough money for the trip that the school could compensate them a bit for their time, and their food, hotel, and plane were all paid for. It was supposed to be a great trip. One to remember. And yeah, Marinette would never forget that vacation.

Because she stood with the rest of her class, watching smoke and dust rise off of the pile of rubble that just dropped on top of her parents. The fight was over. Marinette couldn’t even remember who it was. But even with his son by his side, Superman and Superboy couldn’t save everyone. Nobody could. It was asking too much, to expect any one or two heroes to save everyone when an entire city was being attacked and buildings reduced to rubble.

But that wouldn’t soothe the sight of blood creeping out of the rocks.

That wouldn’t soothe the scrapes on Marinette’s knees when she dropped to the ground.

It wouldn’t smother the sound of her agonized cries.

It wouldn’t heal the burns and scrapes and bruises, the chipped fingernails and bleeding fingertips that Marinette gave herself as she tried desperately, sight blurry through tears, to lift each and every piece of still-hot concrete off, shove it to the side, in an attempt to unearth them. They could still be alive, right? Right?

The fact that she was shoveling what amounted to pebbles off of a hill of rubble argued with her. No. No, they weren’t.

It wasn’t until gentle, but unyieldingly strong hands clasped hers, making them still.

“You’re hurting yourself,” that soft, deep voice came from whoever owned the foreign hands, but she didn’t have the mental strength to look up and identify them. Instead, she resorted to kicking rubble away. The voice sighed. “Back up. I can help. Okay? Will you let me help?”

It had been so long, Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. When was the last time someone had actually asked her that question? When was the last time someone ever offered her help? Legitimate help, not just something superficial.

She couldn’t remember. How should she respond?

Marinette’s tongue darted out, wetting her dusty lips. Her deep breath came in with a disconcerting rattle. Somehow, she managed to nod. The foreign hands loosened slightly.

“Okay. Good—“

“I can’t stop,” Marinette finally managed to choke out. “I can’t— I need to—“

“I know,” the voice said again, endlessly patient. Endlessly understanding. “But you’re hurting yourself, so put these on first. Then you can keep digging.”

With his help—yes, him. She vaguely managed to pin down that the voice was male— she was able to slip on thick gloves. They were several sizes too big, probably belonged to one of the firefighters nearby, her mind numbly supplied. She didn’t care. As soon as they were on, she dropped down and began to dig again. The man who had offered to help did just that, moving just a foot or two away and lifting up impossibly large chunks of concrete before placing them down gently in an open area.

With his help, they were uncovered. They were carried away, under blankets, as best as they could be. Marinette saw none of it. Hands covered her eyes, younger than the voice-man’s hands but almost as strong. The only thing she saw was whatever was left once most of them was taken away. Later, she would thank him. But in the moment she was furious.

“I’m not a baby!” She growled at him, her voice lower and scratchier than usual because of all the smoke and dust clogging her throat. “I need to look at them! I need to remember!”

“Not like this,” the new voice said. When he removed his hands, Marinette saw Superboy. He was probably just about her age, but that offered little comfort for her. At least his eyes were understanding, calm, and empathetic. “You don’t need to see them like this. Remember them like they were, not how they ended,” the young hero advised gently, keeping a respectable distance between them now that he was no longer covering her eyes. He wasn’t even floating, staying on solid ground to stay closer to her eye level. “Today will be hard enough on your mind as it is. You don’t need to make this more painful than it is.”

Marinette could only bite her lip at that, her shoulders trembling. Is this what it took to have someone worry about her? To have people realize that she wasn’t superhuman, that she wasn’t infallible or mentally indestructible? Is this what it took, to finally have people try to help and care for her?

Because if it was, she would gladly deal with Lila Rossi and be held to far too high a standard for the rest of her life. She would rather suffer quietly for decades with that much more gentle pain than deal with this agony right now.

She finally let the tears fall, but they were mostly silent. Only hiccups and gasps for air added sound to her sobs. Superboy gently removed her hands from her arms before she could draw blood on herself, and when she lunged into the touch he drew her into the hug she clearly needed. When she pretty much collapsed into his hold, getting snot and tears over the symbol on his chest, he said nothing. He just held her and shared a glance over her shoulder with his father.

—*—*—*—*—*

Lois Lane was an investigative reporter. And when her husband and son asked her to make sure the girl they had sat with for hours after the latest attack on their city would be taken care of, she did not cut corners in her research. What she came up with was less than reassuring.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. With her parents gone, she didn’t have much in the way of possible guardians. Her paternal grandfather was dead, just a few months earlier of old age. Her paternal grandmother Gina was consumed with wanderlust, not very responsible and not likely to be able to win custody. Even if she did, Lois doubted Marinette would do well in such an unstable, constantly moving lifestyle. Some people would, but Marinette was much like her son from what she gathered from her investigation. She would need stability before anything else. There was her Uncle from her mom’s side of the family, but he only spoke Mandarin so the language barrier was not promising either. The last thing Marinette needed was pressure to learn a new language. If she hyper focused on anything to deal with her grief, it should at least be something she chose on her own. Lastly there was her maternal grandmother, but she had gotten in an accident and passed away almost two years prior.

Luckily, Lois Lane was also a woman of extreme, if mostly secret, political power. She knew several billionaires with political sway, international superheroes, and politicians. Also, not that she would ever tell her husband, but she might have squared away some blackmail and favors that she might cash in with some folks in the legal system if it decided to fight her on her new personal mission.

Nobody got in the way of Lois Lane and lasted long.

But first, she ran her idea past her family. It wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t agree with her, after all. Luckily enough, her offer seemed to be exactly what they had hoped for. Apparently Marinette was the type that was easy to get attached to.

And that was how, after twelve hours of intense phone-call sessions and very, very many in depth discussions, arguments, debates, bargains, and subtle manipulation, Marinette Dupain-Cheng ended up in the temporary custody of the Kent family.

The process itself was extremely complicated and in normal circumstances would have taken anywhere from days to months to complete, but as mentioned before Lois Lane is a secret political superpower in and of herself.

Officially, Marinette’s grandmother Gina assumed custody. Unofficially, her grandmother had plans to enroll her in school abroad in, you guessed it, Metropolis, so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the melancholy memories that Paris would supply her. In doing so, she contacted the Kent’s who were apparently old family friends and asked them to take her granddaughter in for the time being. She was oh so busy traveling the world, after all. And that’s no life for a teenager recovering from grief.

After two weeks to allow Marinette to go back to Paris for the funeral, pack up her things and say goodbye to her friends, she ended up on the Kents’ doorstep with her grandmother by her side. Any attempts to get more information out of the old woman were futile, she refused to say a word on why nobody had mentioned these “family friends” before.

(Lois figured out fairly quickly that Gina Dupain was not somebody to take lightly. The fact that Gina answered the phone thinking that Red Hood was calling was a giant tip off. Lois was pretty sure that Gina knew damn well who her son and husband were, but wasn’t saying anything about it. It really was a shame that she wasn’t exactly prime parenting material at the moment.)

Lois and Clark opened the door together, having been double and triple checking that everything was set up and ready for their new addition. Sure, Marinette wasn’t being adopted or even officially fostered by them, but they would still treat her like a Kent.

“Marinette, hi,” Clark greeted, smiling warmly down at the short girl. “I’m Clark, and this is my wife Lois. If you need absolutely anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Okay?”

The small girl nodded, her hair flopping behind her a bit. Normally she would have it held back in pigtails, but she just didn’t have the energy for that anymore. Maybe she would regain it one day. With that, Gina and Marinette said their goodbyes and she started her life with the Kents.

—*—*—*—*—*

It took a while. Luckily the trip to metropolis had already been in the early summer, so Marinette could be excused for the last few weeks of the school term and relax over summer before being forced back into society. Her grades at Francois-Dupoint were finalized, Marinette doing all the extra work during her two weeks in France for the funeral. She had been told it wasn’t necessary and that she could take her time with it but, as the Kents soon learned, Marinette hated being idle.

But even though Marinette was nowhere near healed, it only took a week for her to warm up to the youngest Kent. Jon was a very much welcome presence in her new life. Just about her age, he was always patient with her and never pried for information or asked about why she occasionally couldn’t bring herself to talk. Words just failed her sometimes, she couldn’t get her throat to work. Something would remind her of her parents, or that day, and she would just feel the dust in her throat again and the blisters on her palms and she just couldn’t say a word.

All three of the Kents helped her through these episodes as best as they could, but Jon always stayed close by so she could tug him into a hug when she was ready. As a very tactile person, she really appreciated that.

And somehow he and Clark, despite being very awkward and physically unsure of themselves on the surface, gave the best hugs.

But, even though Jon and Clark had resigned themselves to being slightly more on-guard about their identities than they usually would be at home, they hadn’t quite anticipated just how hard it would be to keep a secret identity. Not necessarily from Marinette, since the girl spent most of her time out in their backyard or in her room, or occasionally going out for short visits to the city with Jon. No, it was the other way around.

Because of course Marinette couldn’t just give up being Ladybug and the Grand Guardian. Fu wasn’t there to take over for her anymore, so she took it upon herself to watch over Paris twice as vigorously. Mostly through keeping an eye on news channels and texts with her friends, general media stuff. She didn’t want to tire Kaalki out.

And this was how, two months after Marinette started living with the Kents, she walked through a portal into her room and was met with Clark and Jon staring right at her. The elder Kent had his arms crossed, posture oddly confident for the man she had come to know, and one eyebrow raised. Jon looked like his smile was about to rip his face in half, and he was bouncing a bit on his heels. Even then, though, Marinette could pick out the slight worry in his blue eyes. In both of theirs.

She immediately jumped backwards and closed the portal. Trapping herself back in Paris.

And instantly crumpling down to moan in despair on top of a random Parisian rooftop.

She was sitting on the very top of the Eiffel Tower when Superman and Superboy found her, and it didn’t take much for her to guess that they had flown straight over from metropolis. Stupid super-speed flight. She drew her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as they floated to her side of her patiently. She had long since separated Kaalki, and sat in just her Ladybug costume.

“I knew Lois could contact you guys, but this is a bit too quick even for you don’t you think?” Ladybug drawled monotonously, looking over at both of the heroes dryly. Now that she was mostly of sound mind and not in the middle of a traumatic situation, she was able to make connections she couldn’t before. She was able to actually observe their faces, whereas before she hadn’t really been in the right mind frame to really commit anything about them to memory. But now?

Ohhh, she knew those faces.

Marinette’s eyebrow twitched as she did a double-take, followed closely by a deep breath. Maybe the glasses and, for Jon, baseball cap, would be a good enough disguise for most people. Especially when combined with the frankly impressive body acting they both pulled off on an apparently daily basis, they felt like totally different people in and out of the suits even if they looked the same.

But Marinette was not a normal person. She was a designer, she had a very critical eye, and she had just spent the better part of the last two months living in the same house as these two. And now she realized that they severely toned down the body acting and general “disguise” of their civilian selves when they were at home rather than outside. She had shrugged it off as them simply relaxing at home and, while she was right, it wasn’t until this moment that she put everything together.

“No masks, seriously? Some day, someone with eyes as good as mine is gonna figure you guys out,” she told them blandly, earning shocked blinks followed quickly by soft grins.

“I would normally sit down next to you at this point, but you haven’t exactly left us any space,” Superman— Clark, Marinette reminded herself— joked lightly. Marinette looked down to the small tip of the Eiffel Tower and back up to him, pointedly raising both eyebrows. Jon giggled.

Rolling her eyes and fighting a smile, Ladybug stood up without any apparently care about her footing. Somehow, balance seemed to just come naturally to her. It was so different from the usual Marinette that Clark and Jon had seen literally walk into a wall on multiple occasions that they had to grin. Seems like she fit right in on their acts-clumsy-and-awkward-but-isn’t trope.

(No, they later realized, that was completely Marinette. Ladybug just brought out a different side of her, but the awkwardness was still there. Just better hidden.)

“I was kinda trying to stay somewhere that nobody else could join me on purpose. You know, I was a little busy catastrophizing about you guys wanting to get rid of me now.”

“What?!” Jon asked, horrified. “No way! Even if we were normal, we wouldn’t just toss you away because we found out you’re a hero. That just— do you honestly think we would do that?”

“No,” she admitted softly, crossing her arms and sighing as she looked down over Paris. Over her city. It was a bittersweet view nowadays. “No, but I always freak out over things like that pretty easily. I’ve had people leave me over less. Sometimes it’s hard to convince myself that anyone else will be different.”

“Marinette—“

“Ladybug, actually,” she corrected with a small smile. “Don’t wanna slip up here. You never know who’s listening.”

Clark blinked, needing a moment to let that sink in before forcing himself to continue. “Ladybug, then,” he paused to gently lay a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to meet his gaze. As always it was soft. Patient. Just like his voice had been that fateful day. And, oh, there were the memories. They had both been there, helped her, and they stuck with her. Even though it hadn’t been their fault, even though they could have easily stepped back and let her deal with own problems and who had her custody on her own, they didn’t. She would have blamed them if they did, who was she to expect heroes to care about her like she was their child? That would be horrendously selfish of her. They saved hundreds of people every week.

And yet here they were, treating her like family.

And there was the phantom dust, clogging her throat. Strangling her words. She opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. Clark understood, he always understood, and his grip just tightened slightly. It tethered her.

“Ladybug,” he repeated even more softly. “We are not going to toss you out. Not for something like this, not for anything. You’re family now. You might not have the Kent name, you might not be kryptonian, but you’re one of us. Lois understands. Heaven knows she’s put up with both of us long enough, one more hero in the family is probably not that surprising. I just hope that… that you knowing doesn’t—“

“I don’t blame you,” there we go, her voice finally decided to work again. It came out a little hoarse, so she cleared her throat and started again. “I don’t blame you. I never did. It’s stupid, blaming a hero for things that never would have happened if the villain hadn’t attacked in the first place,” she told them, ripping her gaze away from his to trace over Paris again. “Maybe it’s because I understand that not everyone can be saved. I get it. But I never blamed you. I was actually grateful from the very beginning. You helped me dig them out even though you very well could have just carried me to the sidelines and stopped me from digging at all. And you, Jon, you didn’t complain once when I pretty much tackled you in a hug. You both sat with me as the paramedics looked me over. You didn’t leave until you were sure I was back in my hotel and in good hands. You never got impatient with me. That’s more than I could have asked for,” suddenly her mask was wet, and she roughly swiped away the tears that had leaked from her eyes. “You guys being Superman and Superboy isn’t going to make me treat you differently. It’s… actually nice. Not having to hide anymore, I mean.”

Jon grinned and flew over, enveloping her in a tight hug. Ladybug only chuckled and returned it, never once faltering in her balance. “I know exactly what you mean!” He said happily, making Ladybug laugh even more. It quickly devolved into Jon having to compensate for Ladybug’s balance, since she was suddenly leaning all her weight on him as she laughed her little heart out and no longer seemed to care about her balance at all. Not that it mattered much, Jon was more than capable of keeping her safe at close range like this, but it was cute to see. And for Clark? It was really relieving to see the girl he had come to think of as a daughter laughing so genuinely for the first time. Not a chuckle, or a soft huff of amusement, a full blown belly laugh.

It was amazing.

“Come on. I think you have some explaining to do, if you are comfortable with it anyway. Do you want to fly back, or portal back?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. He wouldn’t force Marinette to use her powers, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about them. Marinette straightened up, easily regaining her balance on the pointed tip of the tower beneath her, and slipping on a pair of glasses that she pulled… out of her yo-yo?

Wait, why was a yo-yo on her hip her only weapon? Maybe Clark should look into the Paris situation a bit more in-depth. He was clearly missing a lot, and none of what he was seeing was necessarily filling him with joy and confidence. Maybe Marinette could help soothe his worries later, if she decided to explain her abilities to them.

One transformation and a portal later, and all three of them stepped back into Marinette’s room. And when the portal closed and Marinette let down all her transformations, she took a deep breath and looked around. At both men in the room with her. At her bed and all her belongings. At the way this space has become her own. It felt nice. Warm. Welcoming, familiar.

Home.

It felt like home.

And Marinette’s smile hadn’t been quite so wide since before that infamous Metropolis trip.

Part 2

Yes, Lois kept her last name when she married Clark. I just like alliteration, okay? Besides, my story my rules lol :P

[bts-ficrecs]

BTS Bodyguard AUs

Anon request: Any bodyguard aus you recommend? 🥺

Doth mine eyes deceive me???? bodyguard???? um???? YES???? I…… may have gone overboard…. again….. Lmao Enjoy!~ and remember to give these writers lots of love!!!!

Note: I have not read a majority of these, so I’m super giddy to get into them!~ And as always, if you have a fic that you think should be added lmk and I’ll check it out! ^^

 

 

KIM NAMJOON.

 

23 by @yoongisbbydoll​

— Genre: angst

— Summary: It never occurred to Namjoon that he would lose such a big piece of himself to you. All those nights spent together, he never realized that he was slowly falling for you and everything you do. He only ever saw himself as a friend to you, someone who protected you at all costs, someone expendable. Namjoon had never even pondered the idea that you could feel the same. 

 

Because She (and You) Give Me None by @namjooniebjonesuniverse​

— Genre: angst, fluff, ongoing series

— Summary: Ever since he took the throne at the tender age of sixteen, King Kim Seokjin of the Tuhan Kingdoms is seeking to create peace between the Vampire and Shifter races, who have been at odds with each for a decade. In order to demonstrate to his people that said peace is possible, he hires a new security detail for himself and his younger brother. Both of them being Vampires. Crown Prince Kim Namjoon is absolutely thrilled with the idea…

 

Caged by @mrsmon​

— Genre: angst, fluff, complete series

— Summary: You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to. In the last three months, you had grown so accustomed to his presence that you could tell when he was around by the way the air shifted and the world seemed to stop in its tracks for the fraction of a second, and with it your heart.

 

Impossible Ghosts by imlittleredbird & serClizia (AO3)

— Pairing: Namjoon x Seokjin

— Genre: fluff, smut, complete series

— Summary: Namjoon is the crown prince of South Korea and he has 99 problems, all of which are Kim Seokjin. Jin is the personal bodyguard of the prince and has 1 big problem: the way his ears turn red because of his crush - which happens to be the crown prince of South Korea.

 

Power by @ironicarmy​ (AO3 link)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut

— Summary: You always go out of your way to remind Namjoon who’s boss. Until he snaps and you find out that he’s the one in charge.

 

Rotten by @1kook​

— Genre: fluff, smut

— Summary: How bold of him to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, as if his presence alone doesn’t contribute to the distance your father places between the two of you.

 

 

KIM SEOKJIN.

 

About Time by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: You caught yourself staring at him again. Kim Seokjin.

 

Borders by @drquinzelharleen​

— Genre: angst, smut, discontinued series

— Summary: Jin has been a faithful and loyal bodyguard to your family for years, not that you’ve noticed. He’s the best at what he does, which is why he has been assigned to take care of you. Of course it’s hard when he’s so unlike anything you’ve ever been around.

 

Heaven's Light by pact (AO3)

— Pairing: Seokjin x Jungkook

— Genre: angst, series (on hiatus)

— Summary: Kim Seokjin has been raised and trained to serve whatever it is that pleases the clients of the establishment that took him in when nobody else would. But when he is brought up to the palace of The Majestic to be the pet of a prince who shows little concern to anyone who he deems inconvenient to him, Seokjin soon finds himself drowned in a series of manipulation, cruelty, sadism and the spoiled demeanor of a young man who holds the fate of his life between his fingers.

 

If I Kiss You, I Won't Be Able to Stop by @hoseoksyn​ (AO3)

— Genre: smut

— Summary: The mafia's daughter's crush on her bodyguard reaches breaking point.

 

Safe and Sound by bazooka (AO3)

— Pairing: Seokjin x Namjoon

— Genre: fluff, twoshot

— Summary: From a tumblr prompt: Jin is a prince, and Namjoon is his bodyguard.  "You're sort of bad at this." "Nah. You're safe, aren't you?"

 

The Bodyguard by @hollyxqx​

— Genre: smut

— Summary: Seokjin, hired to protect you by your wealthy father, can’t keep his hands off you after a night together. 

 

 

MIN YOONGI.

 

At Your Service by @magicalsalamander​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut

— Summary: Your Grandpa adopted him, ex-K-9 police dog hybrid, to kept the auto shop safe. He had to fulfill his vicious guard dog hybrid appeal, but he was putty in your hands. However, when an unexpected event happens you took ownership of Yoongi, your best friend…but when tensions build, will he want to stay with you?

 

Breaking Point by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff, 2shot

— Summary: Months went by with him at your side. He was diligent and always polite but kept a professional distance. It was hard to know what was going through his head. You supposed you didn’t mind. Maybe it was easier for him to do his job that way. But sometimes it irked you that as friendly as you tried to be, he always held a part of himself back.

 

Orbits by @galaxyseokjin

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: Life in this sector of the galaxy had always been rough, always had been a fight to live. Life as a mercenary never one you thought you’d fall into. But here you were, earning a pretty penny now that you’d made a name for yourself. When you’d accepted the offer to be a body guard for the son of a politician, you expected the life of luxury. Easy days and nights with no worries. Unfortunately for you, Min Yoongi had no intention of falling into that plan.

 

화양연화 (The Most Beautiful Moment In Life) by sunshinejoon (AO3)

— Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: "With every empty office and every light left on -- it only means that people have left, y'know? They've left, just for a while, to be with their families." He falls silent, before picking back up again. "These people, they're with people they love. People they're trying to love. Or maybe they're all alone in their shitty apartments -- but they're someone to love too, are they not?"  Yoongi exhales, and Jimin thinks he feels it expand, curl against his insides.  "Maybe these lights like the night."

 

 

JUNG HOSEOK.

 

Guarded By @xjoonchildx​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, complete series

— Summary: You’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

 

Nothing but the Rain by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: Most people didn’t know the real role Jung Hoseok played in your life. He was too loud, too impulsive to be seen for what he really was: your bodyguard. Granted, the man had a massive startle reflex so it was hard to imagine him being a dog in any kind of fight.

 

Protected by @jungk0oksthighs​

— Genre: angst, smut, infidelity warning

— Summary: He was your bodyguard, and he never left your side. As somewhat of a celebrity your brother hired a bodyguard to ensure your safety, but Hoseok was more like a friend than somebody who was paid to be around. It wasn’t always easy though, things became complicated when you started to catch feelings for a man who attended your brother’s masquerade ball with another woman.

 

 

PARK JIMIN.

 

Don’t Care If It Hurts by @hollyhomburg​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, complete series

— Summary: After a rival gang makes an attempt on your life, Your older brother, the infamous leader of Seoul’s largest gang; Kim Namjoon, gets you a guard hybrid; Park Jimin, The reigning champion of Seoul’s underground hybrid fighting ring.

 

I Blow up Buildings (but I’d Blow You) by sugaretreat (AO3)

— Pairing: Yoongi x Jungkook

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: The AU where Yoongi has been receiving death threats from an enemy organisation known as Skeletal, and Jeon Jeongguk is the lucky bastard brought in to be his bodyguard. Yoongi tries to hate him. He really does.

 

Knight by junglec0re (AO3)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, twoshot

— Summary: In which Jimin is a Prince, and Yoongi is his personal bodyguard that would do anything for him.

 

Protegere by @taesbetch​

— Genre: angst, fluff, ongoing series

— Summary: In a land where the crown means everything, everything will be risked in order to protect it. when Y/ns older brother dies its time for her to claim the throne, however, she is seen as weak and an easy target to those lurking in the shadows. The park clan has been trained from birth to protect the throne and those on them, but the death of Y/ns Brother and other suspicious events seem to of happened coincidentally close. what happens is something no one is ready for.

 

Sunflower by @i-would-rather-be-queen​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: Jimin was your favorite guard. So many of them were gruff and treated you as an inconvenience. A valuable inconvenience to be sure, but still not one with which they wanted to interact. It made sense you supposed. Emotions can cloud judgement and that’s the last thing a bodyguard needs. But from his first day assigned to you Jimin was different. He always made eye contact and smiled warmly. It was a welcome change from being seen as an object.

 

 

KIM TAEHYUNG.

 

An Ocean Heart by @always-in-an-alternate-universe

— Genre: ongoing series

— Summary: There was once a beautiful woman who was as strong as she was beautiful and as smart as she was strong. She had always been the radiant one in the room, who had a presence that was as deep and rich as the ocean’s depths. In that sense, an ocean was the perfect metaphor for her, because the further you looked into it, the less you saw. It’s hard to say whether or not she was born to be this way or eventually grew into it, after all, she was born into the largest South Korean mafia. 

 

The President’s Son by @jimlingss​

— Genre: fluff, complete series

— Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

 

 

JEON JUNGKOOK.

 

Angel With A Shotgun by @taegonia​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: You knew that hiring Jungkook as your bodyguard would be a mistake and that it would lead to… unprofessional actions. 

 

Bodyguard by @minsugapie​

— Genre: fluff, complete series

— Summary: You didn’t want to have someone with you at all times, let alone some butch man you’d never met before. It just didn’t sound appealing to you in the slightest. Plus, how popular were you getting that a man had literally given up his life to serve yours? It wasn’t like you were the goddamn Queen of England.

 

Crown of Gold by @fairykooks​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: Jeon Jungkook is the nation’s pride - kind, charismatic, honest, loving, courageous, beautiful. and in love. 

 

Heavens Will Burn by @gyuten​

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: The truth is that love is only easy for the very lucky few. Jeon Jungkook is in love with someone, and she him. Their love should have come easy, if only life hadn’t given him the biggest misfortune of all: a curse to never be able to touch others without harming them. To Jungkook, his love becomes nothing but sweet pain.

 

I Found Peace (in your body’s skin) by Ahgamo (AO3)

— Pairing: Jungkook x Yoongi

— Genre: angst, ongoing series

— Summary: Prince Jeon Jungkook has been receiving death threats for a couple of months. They hire one Agent Kim (not Taehyung) to guarantee The Prince’s safety. When the assassin makes his first move, killing Agent Kim in the process, they hire one Min Yoongi to protect Korea’s Prince instead. Jungkook isn’t happy with his replacement.

 

My Terms by @nomnomsik​

— Genre: smut, yandere warning, ongoing series

— Summary: Relatively close in age and similar hidden personalities, an idol and bodyguard discuss secret terms unbeknownst to the company. What will come about them and what exactly did they discuss?

 

Now Breathe by @hereforaus​

— Genre: angst, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: People invading your personal space is one of the top most annoying thing to ever exist on earth and your overprotective politician mother hiring a personal bodyguard for you didn’t help at all.

 

Off Guard by @diortae​ (AO3 link)

— Genre: fluff, horny jk so

— Summary: bodyguard!jungkook and rich girl!y/n who has made it her mission to make the 25th bodyguard, jungkook’s life hell to make him quit but jungkook’s one tough cookie who’s always thinking one step ahead of her.

 

Only You by shellflower (AO3)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: It didn't surprise you when you were chosen as one of the top 4 students at the Security Protection Program. It surprised you a little to learn that you would be assigned to one of the four Heirs to the throne. It surprised you a lot to learn that the prim and proper Princes were...not quite what you imagined. Despite this, you would do anything to protect them with your life. And you will.

 

Order by @rainwards​

— Genre: angst, twoshot

— Summary: In which you give Jungkook a very important order.

 

Protection by @koosgrl​

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut

— Summary: “you can’t protect me.” Being the heir of a mafia empire has its pros and cons, what you hated the most was the annoying body guards who were constantly glued to you. however, you always found a way to get rid of them, until you met jeon jungkook that is.  

 

Stubborn Love by @hoseoksyn​

— Genre: angst, smut, infidelity warning

— Summary: Love is not a choice, this much you knew. for a girl like you, neither was marriage. married off to a prince, you had the life most girls would dream of. but your dream didn’t end with prince charming. yours ended with your loyal bodyguard that you could never have.

— Mai’s Thots: READ THIS AND THEN CRY BC ANGST AND THEN CRY AGAIN BC SAM IS WRITING A SEQUEL

 

The Bodyguard by @letspurpletogether​

— Genre: angst, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: Your father is the Don, so you’ve pretty much had enemies your whole life. But when he fails to protect you like he should, you realize maybe it’s time for you to take the matters into your own hands and gather your own men. Perhaps, starting with that tattoed fellow over there with the bad attitude.

 

The Singing Guardian by @sugaabooga​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: “A singer!” your five-year old self gleefully smiles at your teacher with your chubby hands clasped together in a dreamy-like way. Your teacher gives you a warm smile as she writes down ‘SINGER’ in big fat letters on your assignment sheet. “Well, Y/N. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful singer. Contact me when you become famous!”

 

True Care by @joonsgalaxy​ (AO3 link)

— Genre: angst, fluff, smut, ongoing series

— Summary: your (endearingly) shy bodyguard—hired by your father—would do anything for you. even though you roll your eyes at his persistence and pretend there’s no need for him to follow you to every and any place you go, there might be many more hazards in your life than you let on. and you might end up needing him in more ways than you—or your father—would ever think.

 

Untitled by @an-exotic-writer​

— Genre: fluff

— Summary: The morning had been a bit too quiet for your liking and you can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 

 

OT7:

Sanctuary by @minniepetals​

— Genre: angst, fluff

— Summary: Sometimes home isn’t a specific destination, sometimes home is when you’re crying and they reach out to hold you in their arms despite the rules. sometimes home is what you call their arms, your sanctuary.

 

 

congrats. you made it to the end.

[444piscesprincess]

childhood friends to lovers/growing up together sterek fic reclist

uhh this kinda got a lil angsty but i recommend you pick a growing up together fic and listen to this song i promise you will not regret it 

https://open.spotify.com/track/5Dz8nrwQlPLE68WaTEIqY5?si=aogjMc1aToSALmAlfQOR7A 

anyways as usual check tags please!!

(click on the title for the fic)

you know you're on my mind

bibliosexual

Summary:

If there’s one thing Derek’s learned in life, it’s that crushing on someone who lives on an entire other fucking continent is probably a bad idea.

(hs!au + texting!au + childhood friends to lovers the ULTIMATE fluff fic)

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)   (series)

yodasyoyo

Summary:

Stiles is six years old when he first hears Derek's voice in his head.

Or what happens if you have a soulmate bond, in a universe where soulmate bonds don't exist?

Up Down Lock Unlock

isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Summary:

“Why are you going into grandma Ito’s apartment?” he asked.

Derek turned to him, key sliding into the lock. “What do you mean?” He tried to turn it, but the key wasn’t budging. Maybe the lock was sticking again, it’d been doing that the past few days.

Stiles was staring at him like Derek was stupid.

Derek did not appreciate sass from a ten year old.

“That’s grandma Ito’s place.”

“No,” Derek said calmly, pulling the key out and then shoving it back in, wiggling it a little when it continued to refuse to unlock the door. “This is my place.”

“I think you’re on the wrong floor then, because that apartment belongs to grandma Ito.”

(time travel counts as childhood friends right?)

the difference between going back and going home

thepsychicclam

Summary:

Stiles and Derek were inseparable growing up, but then college, jobs, and life happened. When Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills a decade later, he doesn't expect to reconnect with Derek, and he sure doesn't expect to fall in love with him.

It's Such a Gas When You Bring Up the Past

orphan_account

Summary:

Stiles finds a box of old photo albums that dredge up the sweet, the funny, the adorable, and the mildly heartwrenching parts of his and Derek's past.

(mainly a friends fic but its too cute to not include)

It's Always Been You

charlesdk

Summary:

Stiles' love life was practically non-existing, always had been. He was always terrible at picking up clues when people hit on him (it had happened, Erica had been witness to it and had been the one to let him know it was happening in the first place) because he never expected anyone to do so.

He wasn't the most desirable guy around, he knew that. He was loud, extremely nerdy, never knew when to stop talking, not exactly much of a looker if you asked him, the list was endless.

Point was, he never did know when someone was flirting with him. Which was probably how he ended up in the fight that would change his life for the better.

Lead You Home Again

GotTheSilver

Summary:

The first time Derek meets Stiles, the kid’s brown eyes are wide, and he’s staring up at him with a mischievous grin as he tugs at the arm of Derek’s first ever Batman figure like he’s trying to separate it from Batman’s body.

An alternate take on Teen Wolf, wherein Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, and things unfold from there.

Kingdom By The Sea

kilaem

Summary:

Lydia grabs his arm and pulls him down in the seat next to her. “When the hell did you find time to bag a guy like Hale?”

“We’re friends,” Stiles feels his face heat up, and then the team are running out and Derek sees him and smiles. His blush gets worse.

“Oh really?”

“Our moms were friends, okay? We’ve been in diapers together.”

“I thought you two hated each other.”

Those That Bump In The Night

bleep0bleep

Summary:

A boy’s head appears upside down, hanging off the bed. “Is anyone there?” he calls out curiously, looking right at Derek’s eyes. Caught, then. The protocol for being deliberately seen by a child is just to look as strange and fearsome as possible. No one would believe them, anyways. But Derek is tired, and he’s been running and scared, and now he just kind of flickers, curling out a tendril of dark smoke, hoping that he’s a little bit scary. No such luck. The boy’s eyes widen. “Oooh, are you the bogeyman?” “Bogeyperson,” Derek says, before he can help himself.

~

When Stiles was a boy, he had an imaginary friend named Derek. Ten years later, Derek comes back, and is very, very real.

Five Times Derek and Stiles Kissed For Practice (And One Time They Didn't)

mikkimouse

Summary:

In which Derek and Stiles grow up together and practice kissing, roughly in that order.

216 + 1: Words To Say Instead of I Love You

briggs

Summary:

Derek and Stiles have been best friends for fourteen years. They have their differences, sure, but it's never been a question for them. Their friendship has been the most solid thing in their lives -- until suddenly it isn't anymore.

Funny how just a few choice words can throw fourteen years of friendship off-balance.

OR

a collection of "Bro, That's Gay" one-shots that actually ended up turning into a concrete storyline.

hope is the thing with feathers (part of a series)

ShanaStoryteller

Summary:

Stiles is ten when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seem to continue indefinitely.

"Then he's facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There's Mr. Hale asleep - he hopes asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that's his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man's chest so he knows he's alive, but he's not waking up. He shoves away his hood so he can shout, "Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there's a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!" Nothing, he's not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breaths like they're having the most peaceful of rests, and Stiles is going to cry. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" There's a moment, where all Stiles can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it's all back and both of the men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet. "

(one of my favourite fics like EVER)

it came from the trees

whatshouldntbe

Summary:

“Don’t worry, Scott caught me up on everything,” Kira assures with a bubbly smile via video-chat. “You and Derek, huh? I probably should have seen that coming. I always thought it might be Cora, but Derek was the one that looked at you how I used to look at you.”

Stiles goes a little pink. “It’s still kinda new but, yeah. I really like him. He’s...” Beautiful. Patient. Smart. Painfully honest. Sweet.“...a total dork.”

Kira laughs and laughs. When she gets herself together, she replies, “Yeah, those little hearts and stars in your eyes definitely say different."

or

Stiles moves from the shiny, fast-paced lifestyle of Los Angeles to the foggy, sleepy town of Beacon Hills so his dad can become the new sheriff. Newly fifteen, he does his best to finish out his freshman year of high school (by staying under the radar) when he suddenly becomes the Beyoncé of the Supernatural community. And, without much prompting on his part, he ends up catching the eye of one of the most prominent Werewolf families in all of North America. It literally all starts with a stuffed animal(s).

(oh god this fic is the literal best even though its abandoned it ends at okay-ish place. this is one of the best hale family characterisations ive ever read. if you squint it can be a childhood friends to lovers fic but im including it anyway bc its amazing)

Promises aren't Meant to be Broken

paradis

Summary:

“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed.

Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”

(more laura and stiles besties centric but totally worth a read)

The Things We See

MelodramaticSalad

Summary:

Stiles grew up in the life of knowing that there was always more to life than what others saw with a first glance. Even as a child he saw things that no one else seemed to and always had a fascination with the unusual.

Some considered him an unusual child, but Claudia welcomed every single quirk her son displayed. His mother had a few special talents of her own and thrilled her to see it in her son as well. She'd raised Stiles to always keep his mind open and as grew and started to display his powers, she began to teach him how to use them. She even taught Stiles about werewolves at a young age, his infatuation with them growing once he had learned the truth about her closest friend.

Stiles spent nearly every possible moment that he could roaming the Hale house, following after the middle child most of the time. Derek was three years older than Stiles, but the bond they developed with each other was something their mothers considered out of a story book. Like Derek, Stiles was sensitive to his emotions, but unlike Derek, Stiles didn't need a scent to figure it out. He could feel it.

take me back

matildajones

Summary:

“I dare you to kiss me,” Stiles taunts, and he’s not expecting the way Derek says a naughty word under his breath and then leans forward.

Stiles yelps. He just dodges Derek’s mouth before he’s laughing wildly and running through the trees, calling out a series of ew ew ew as Derek chases him back home.

[tmnt-brave-new-world]

Interaction guidelines- The Rules RPs are currently open, please read the rules before interacting

The Rules

- Please Read the rules before interacting

-This is an Ask and RP blog. Rps will be taken under consideration, on a case by case basis

- Absolutely No one under 18, preferably 21+. I’m not planning to censor anything on this blog. If you are not of age, do not follow or interact. You will be reported and blocked

- Patience is a virtue. The Mun works an incredibly difficult and stressful job, that, because it pays the bills, takes priority. This blog is a platform for fun and interaction but can’t take precedence over the real world. Sometimes I’m super busy and it could be awhile before I respond to a post, or an RP. If you aren’t capable of patience don’t interact.

- Please be respectful. The level of respect you show this blog and others is important to the Mun. if you aren’t capable of acting in a mature fashion, you will be blocked. BE NICE…

- Absolutely no popup RPs in ask, without having discussed or plotted a story with the Mun.

- If you would like to RP please dm me with a story idea.

- This is not a tcest site. I’m sorry I don’t know how to write tcest, and don’t have a desire to do so. I feel that I would not be a decent or supportive rp partner if I’m not able to give it my best, and thus do not wish to mistreat or neglect those in the community who enjoy this type of RP

- No randomly appearing in the lair without being invited. Donnie has gone above and beyond to give them safety in their sanctuary. If you weren’t invited, you are not welcome in their home, as is the case with any stranger.

On to the boys!

- The boys are 2014/2016 Bayverse turtles but are mature adult men. Human age wise they are around 50, but maturity and body wise, somewhere in their 30’s respectively. They do not age the same as humans due to the properties of mutagen and their turtle mutant base type

- This is an AU set several decades into the future- please read the prologue to help understand a little more about the world they live in

- They live in a skyrise, penthouse. With state of the art- Donnie certified level protections put into place. Nothing gets in or out, without his knowing. He does not take the safety of himself or his brothers lightly

- The Boys do not belong to anybody and will not belong to anybody. They are free to interact with whomever they would like, in any way that has been discussed and planned between the two muns.

- They don’t know your muse, nor have had any previous interactions with your muse, and thus are not in love with your muse, or have an established relationship with your muse.

- If you want their love and attention you will have to earn it, just like you would in any other type of interaction

- Absolutely no god-modding. Example: its your 3rd time to respond and you’re attempting to have Leo princess carry your character to bed. This is not a natural flow to the story, and not going to happen.

- The boys may like certain features, or admire certain characteristics, however they are open to all body types, shapes and beings, so long as they feel a connection.

A quick explanation as to what the boys do with their free time in a world that knows they exist.

Leo: “We each found our interests and talents opened up a several viable options that had lead us each to a “unique” position.” Leo led as he gathered his thoughts. “Keep in mind after we managed to stop Krang and those who worked closely with him, the world was vulnerable. As far as my brothers and I were concerned, we had fought too hard and for too long for someone to simply slip into the power vacuum we had created and to continue to harsh reality Krang had created for Earth’s inhabitants. Due to this we each chose to do what we knew how to do and could most easily adapt as challenges presented themselves.”

He paused for a moment as he thought about the hardships, they had each faced and managed to overcome as they slowly helped right the world and returned her to standing on her own. A shimmering blue jewel among the galaxy and other worlds that had become familiar with the planet and its amenities.

“During our years in the resistance we managed to acquire wealth and assets. We were able to accumulate quite the little nest egg using those. Along with our acquired influence it opened many a door which in the old world would have remained not only closed but permanently locked to us.”

“I became a strategic investor. Buying the remnants of properties, businesses and services and either helping them to return to what they once were or repurposing to better suit the needs of this new era and turn a profit. It proved to be very profitable and allowed for me to continue to churn out profits which allowed for me to seek other properties and businesses to invest in or connect the right individuals with each other in away that led to my ability to offer the initial capital for a small percentage of the quarterly earnings. It helped people to create jobs and led to a lot of normalcy for those who desperately needed.

One hand washes the other, and this in its essence has lead to my own sector of the Tartaruga brothers incorporated. I have a multi-billion dollar operation on Earth and several branches operating throughout the universe currently.”

Donnie: “As Leo has said,” Donnie commented calmy, “our time resisting and fighting lead us each to our own talents. I spent a lot of time wearing many hats, which included, chemists, doctor, surgeon, agronomist, engineer, electrician, etc. to put it simply I spent a lot of time learning how to save lives, human and otherwise, and the best way to stretch our available resources in a way which led to people surviving. I also had to learn how to create medications which were so commonplace that many died without having them available. Most antibiotics don’t have a very long shelf life and when those ran out initially, we were in constant jeopardy of losing lives to the simplest of bacterial infections. My knowledge, and subsequent research lead to significant improvements and branching into many other factors, and shall we say break throughs.

Needless to say, the value of others wants, lead to my ability to fund the needs of the many. In my sector, I have several leadings areas including pharmacy, medical research, agrarian development, as well as generalized research and development in multiple fields from domestic to military. For obvious reasons, more detailed information is strictly classified.”

Raph: Raph chuckled as Donnie glossed over his closely guarded research. He was willing to kill to protect his research and continue to control the aspects that allowed him to fund the bulk of his interests and common welfare of those he blanketed with his programs. “They ain’t lying. After the world came back from going to shit, it took awhile to get it back up and going. Additionally, there were a lot of people, generally those not from this world that were way too determined to make sure we failed. This led to a lot of infighting and groups struggling for control. That tends to lead to a lot of shady business if you know what I mean, and it wasn’t like we had any type of social services such as police, fire fighting, or anything else. I initially took charge in areas like these.

I took a lot of care to train groups so that they worked together and were prepared to handle whatever problems came. It took a lot of time to cultivate proper training programs and help prepare people on how to help a traumatized world get back to functioning in a healthy way. I still help do this on planets and areas that are in recovery.”

“That being said however, my primary interest and “job” if you want to call it that, is training mixed martial artist prize fighters for the world federation galaxy league. Simply put we aren’t the only species that likes to watch trained athletes test their skills against one another within their respective brackets, or on specially contracted prized fights. I used to fight for the league and earned a lot of titles and prestige. I won most fights and was often the favorite to win after a while. I’m semi-retired and only occasionally enter the ring now days. However, I take and train promising talents for the league and other groups. I have also trained personal bodyguards for a variety of individuals.  Different specialties come with different specifics and contracts as well as costs. It takes a specific might set for each, and a lot of time to drill into a thick skull.”

Mikey: Mikey laughed at the turtle in red, “Oh yeah, and you were the king of thick skulled back when we were young, and dumb.” He barely dodged the throw pillow that was chucked at his head.  “Let’s see for me personally,” Mikey flashed a big grin, “I happen to be a master of many trades. During our days in the resistance, I learned a lot of different tricks to help make the food rations we had on hand not only palatable but nutritionally sound while feeding a literal army of people! So when it was possible I spent a large amount of time learning how to take fancy old world recipes and revamped them with food sources that were still available or recreated them with off world goodies. I also still paint, and love to collaborate with others to create amazing new concepts!”

His face darkened for a moment as he thought back to the early days of the resistance. “There were so many people who in the blink of an eye had lost everything, and unfortunately it was insanely common to find kids who had either been separated from their families or were the only survivor. In a lot of instances they were traumatized and it took a lot of creative thinking to coax them out of their shells and help to reteach them on how to live. This happened fairly frequently with adults as well. Because of this and what seemed like a never ending shortage of textiles, I had to learn and create new ways to make things and often times help find things that brought the sparkle back to peoples eyes. Because of this however, I have a multimedia conglomerate that allows me to work in a wide area of creative outlets. The fashion world is a flippant mistress, but there are a lot of ways in which one can compete and stand out. It’s led to a lot of lucrative contracts with those who are “starving” for the next amazing piece of creatively, or at least that’s what they tell me. The great thing about taking high end contracts and commissions is that a lot like my brothers, the revenue lets me continue to reach out to others. I fund a program that includes shelters called “Uncle Mikey’s” for those who are missing, exploited, or just need help. I also teach cooking, and practical skills for those who need them, and they are streamed to community centers such as local libraries, after school programs, and the like, to try and continue to help those who never received a chance to learn to do things due to the world kind of going through an apocalypse level event.

[apiratewhopines]

Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

[spectrumed]

1. piano

The brain is a musical instrument. How it sounds all depends on who is playing it. The keys, the strings, the tubes, the circuits, none of them make noise on their own. Some may argue (some very aggressively) that every instrument has one exact way that it should be played. That there is one correct way to play the piano, and then there’s several incorrect (deviant!) ways to play the piano. But a classically trained pianist will not play the piano in quite the same way as a self-taught jazz pianist will play the piano. Sure, the latter does employ some stylings unique to them. They have an idiosyncratic way of playing that makes their sound highly notable, possibly even sought after. While the former, the classically trained musician, they’ve been taught to minimise many of those quirky individual traits that could, potentially, distract from the classical compositions that they will be playing. In jazz, music is carried by unique characters and a strong sense of individualism. In classical, music is carried by tradition, norm, and history.

It should not be understood that the classically trained musician plays without soul or passion. While we, in the western world, have become more and more infatuated with the idea of the self-made artist, the amateur who makes their way to success and stardom solely through will, and quite often a manic compulsion to create, there is no wrong way to play an instrument. However you make it work, whatever sounds you are able to produce, you are playing that instrument. You are channeling your inner essence into the music you are performing, no matter what genre you belong to. No-one plays their instrument the exact same way, for certain, but everyone is playing with what they’ve got.

How do you think? You’re used to being asked “what do you think?” But how do you think? Do you see pictures in your head? Do you experience an inner monologue? Are you riddled with anxiety? Have you ever hallucinated? Do you think that you think good, or do you think that you think bad? If we return to our metaphor of the brain as a musical instrument, what sort of music do you think you’d play? Sure, there’s the classical world, and the jazz world, but of course, that’s hardly the music most people will listen to nowadays. Do you think in pop songs? Or do you think in big heavy metal epics? Or maybe what you are is a maniac for dance music. You may find like-minded friends who like the same kind of music as you do. I think that there is a correlation between what music we like and how we perceive the world. Does listening to a certain song send you back? Does a certain tune evoke memories that you may have thought were long since gone? I know that there are some folks out there who say that they do not care much for music, and while I don’t doubt that they absolutely do feel that way, I can personally not imagine where I’d be without my trusty set of headphones and my phone loaded up with a wide library of music I like. It seems to me that music is primal. Almost as if only by understanding music, can one come to understand consciousness. To nab a song title from Jethro Tull (the band, not the agriculturalist,) life is a long song.

But I do admit that I come from a biased perspective. Music means much to me. I’m no musician, but I think that partly stems from a desire to not see “how the sausage is made.” I’d like to be able to listen to a composition without feeling compelled to analyse it, or to study it. I’d rather eat the sausage without having to wonder what bits of the animals this meat came from. Is that the taste of a spleen or a testicle? There are plenty of other things in life to dissect and tear apart just to examine. Perhaps what I wish is to maintain an arcane approach to music. Perhaps I am too enamoured by the idea of the musician as a mystic able to tap into an elevated state of being, some spiritual realm divorced from our own. That look on the guitarist’s face when they successfully manages to convey just the right emotional tone perfectly with that solo. The frisson you feel when the song reaches its climax. That thing we call the sublime. To explain it, well, it simply feels like you are making something splendid mundane. It seems to rob it of its power. Or… Well, maybe that’s not it all. Maybe all I want is just a moment or two when I can relax and avoid thinking about things. For a moment, I’d just like to forget that I’m a person.

The world is so loud. Really, I can guarantee you that if you didn’t have those natural mental filters that we all have, you’d go insane. Every little sound. Every little bit of stimuli. It would all overwhelm you. It would burrow deep into your consciousness, and it would refuse to leave. Ever tried to fall asleep while hearing the dripping water from a leaky tap? Drip, drip, drip. Know how impossible that feels? Well, imagine if you had that feeling always, imagine if all noise felt that visceral and in-your-face. Lucky you’ve got those filters. Turns out, not everyone has them. I don’t. It fucking sucks.

Music is lovely, because music is organised. It has structure. You can listen to a song, remember it, and then follow along as you’re listening to it a second time. Music follows a pattern. There is a logic to patterns. But the everyday noises that surround us do not follow a pattern. Let me tell you, birds are infuriating animals. Sure, their individual little songs can be nice to listen to, but when all the birds of the forest come together, they don’t perform as an orchestra. No, they’re all just doing their own solo piece, completely oblivious to the sounds going on around them. I’m thinking that nature could have done well with a conductor. Someone competent to create order. To make it all just that bit more peaceful. I don’t have those filters others take for granted. I can’t ignore sounds. And that makes the world feel so loud.

It is neat to imagine the human brain as a musical instrument. You can imagine that seasoned player, that old session stalwart who’s played on all the most famous pop hits throughout the decades, and you want to imagine them playing with grace and finesse and showcasing all the amazing sounds that the instrument can produce. But the brain isn’t really some marvel of biological engineering. It’s not intelligently designed. It’s actually just a piece of meat hiding underneath layers of bone, skin, and hair. It’s a complex bit of meat, admittedly. It’s hard to understand exactly how the brain does work. But if you were to open up a person’s cranium, rather than feeling awe, you’d most likely feel grossed out. This thing that we’re supposed to think of as a miraculous product of millennia of evolutionary progress, it looks… Well, it looks awfully pinkish, and wrinkly, and frankly unpleasant.

We’re all mortal beings, made from squishy flesh and blood, scraped together from all that was available at the time. Sure, we may dream and fantasise about one day achieving those heights we aspire towards, to become that perfect superman, whose cognitive abilities put them on par with the mythological titans of the past. But really, we’re all just trying to do our best with what we’ve got. You may not be able to play the finest of Mozart’s many symphonies, the instrument that you’ve been given just simply isn’t up to snuff. Even if all you can play is Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, that shouldn’t weigh on your value as a human being. And besides, that’s still Mozart you’re playing.

I will undoubtedly get back to discussing music in later instalments of this blog. It is truly a major part of my world, and without the joys I associate with it, I would be in a far worse place. But I think that, ultimately, what I wish to arrive at, is the fact that our sensory perceptions have a significant impact on how we piece together our sense of self. While it may be an unnerving thought to consider, what would happen to our understanding of ourselves if we one day were to lose one of our major senses? I am sure that many people could go without their sense of smell. Humans have long since abandoned smell as a dominant sense. To a dog, on the other hand, to lose its sense of smell would be devastating. It would lose part of what it means to be a dog. For humans, we enjoy the scent of freshly baked bread, the whiff of somebody’s perfume, or the bouquet of some pricey bottle of wine. But that’s nothing to what dogs get out of their sense of smell. To a dog, its sense of smell is its world. Is a dog even a dog if it can’t sniff around? Do you think dogs ever take their sense of smell for granted?

I do not think that humans are what we eat, but I suspect that we may be what we perceive. Our consciousness does not exist independently of the world that surrounds it, but rather, it is formed by the outside stimuli it receives on a constant basis. The fury of noises, lights, smells, all kinds of impressions, it shapes you. It is what our memories are built on. I am not at all certain that there exists anything more to the mind beyond that. I doubt that we’ve got some immutable soul hidden underneath it all. Humans are the collection of thoughts and ideas that we’ve attached ourselves to throughout our lives, and naturally, if you’re neurodivergent, that process is going to happen differently to most. At times those differences will be large enough that it can create real conflicts with those others around you. Effectively, to be neurodivergent is to suffer constantly from culture shocks. To me, it is natural to loathe the cacophony of birds in the summer. Their screams feel like piercing needles embedding themselves into my skin. But I try telling that to others, and I’ve yet to find anybody who agrees with me.

So, am I just wrong? Am I mistaken? Am I a freak? Why can’t I just be like everybody else? Why must I be such a buzzkill? I can’t even enjoy birdsong, I really must be a pain to be around. How did it come about that I just can’t be normal? Normal. I want to be normal. It is and it will likely always be grossly underrated to just be normal. Normal people don’t know how good they have it. They’re just too normal to be able to perceive it. When you’ve never been without it, you don’t know what it is to miss it. Normalcy. Having a normal brain. Having others see you as a normal person. Only if you didn’t have it, would you know how great it is. Do you sometimes wonder if dogs know how much they’d miss their sense of smell if they ever were to lose it?

Then again, there is no such thing as normal, is there? If you were to take the world’s most average person, then that person would be abnormal. To be a person is to be unique. We’re all special snowflakes. Aren’t we?

You may not play your instrument in a conventional manner, but who’s to say what manner counts as conventional? It’s all just so arbitrary. Who’s to say you can’t play an acoustic guitar as a drum? Who’s to say you can’t treat your piano as a percussion instrument? Smack your cello with a flute, if you’d like. Isn’t it just delightful when you see a unique performer who is able to play their instrument in a way you could never before have conceived it being played? The novelty of it all. The absolute joy of being exposed to something different. Of seeing something that can barely be believed. You love things that are unusual, and you think people who are different should delight in being different. Surely, it is better than being normal and boring?

But is it all that bad to be boring? And you may love what’s different, but when it comes down to it, despite your positive inclination, you still perceive it as being the other. It is not you. It is not mainstream, it is underground. Secluded. Deviant. Those who truly do struggle to fit in with society, to be just like everybody else, they are constantly faced with these little reminders that they just don’t belong. They are humans (at least they think they are humans,) but they’re not like other humans they know. For as much as they get told that they should embrace their quirky nature as simply being who they are, it is hard to know what it is like to be not normal, when all you’ve ever been is normal. Sure, for a performance or two, it’s fun. It’s fun to get the attention, to be seen as having something others don’t have. But then, at the end of the day, all you want is to be able to fall asleep, without the birdsong outside your window keeping you awake.

[squeiky]

What if there was a mall based episode of pokemon adventures?

Ps: im on limited juice on what exactly happened after the episode of "practically pikachu" so if anything seemed off, thats why. I can only have so much spoilers.

This is a really REALLY long post, i did my best and added some wholesome satogou moments cause why not. I hope you enjoy ^.^

!!!!!SPOILER WARNING BTW!!!!!!! If that wasn't obvious.

.....(I can't do the read more thing on mobile, so stick with me here.)

So the Professor finds out about some mysterious instances of this shopping district being haunted or constantly full of mischief. So of course he sends Gou and Ash to check it out. Of course Koharu/chloe ends up tagging along with her pokemon, out of curiostiy. Of course something is seemingly following them from behind, and you hear a cute little giggle.

At first, its all nice and fun. They go sight seeing, getting a bit distracted here and there. Gou and koharu do a bit of dress up, and Ash is stuck having to be refferee on who dressed up better. You get some cute satogou moments, and some wholesome koharu and gou rivalry. Before....

The lights start to flicker..

And things go south.

See, before they got to the mall, there was a warning the Professor gave them before the went on their journey. The mall had been abandoned not to long ago, as Pokemon have been infesting it and taking over. Poison types, gost types, what ever dangers you could think of. It used to be very popular, attracting all kinds of mons and trainers from across the globe. Sadly, it had to shut down.

He told them to be careful, and stay on their guard. They did the complete opposite of that, and got distracted.

The light shuts down, and their in complete darkness. Bit of twist, but Koharu brings out a flashlight, then makes a sly remark on how reckless the two are getting. Followed by a slightly agitated gou, though ash doesn't seem to mind. Instead he focuses on another thing.

Wheres.. Pikachu?

Actually... Where is all of their pokemon?

Ash makes a slightly panicked remark about this... Slightly... PanicKEd.. ReSpoNse.. Then everyone starts to freak out. Then the lights suddenly turn on and everywhere around them seems like a battle field. Clothing racks are rolled over, there's some string from some bug pokemon, lying around and some other attack residues from not only their pokemon, but possibly other poison, or dark types. if the situation couldn't get bad enough.

They call out their pokemon names to no evail. The mall is big, even with the 3 of them, they cant possibly cover all the ground. They've only explored basically half of the entire mall.. Or atleast half of what they thought was the entire mall.

Gou gets a bit pessimistic, worrying if they where taken by some baddies like team rocket, or hurt, mabye even kidnapped!! While ash is a bit optimistic, saying they probably got away, or are off fighting them now, and winning!

Koharu though.. Shes not focused on any of that. The patterns of pokemon attack residue.. Shows a winding trail leading off into the bigger part of the mall. Making her even more curious than before..

She turns around to she ash and gou sending out their pokemon from their pokeball, luckily, who ever this was didn't think to take those. Gou explains that the mall is big, and they need as much help as they can get.

So for awhile, we see interactions with their pokemon, looking around, in union or in chaos. Slowly exploring the rest of the mall.

But.. Never once, do we stop seeing all these things happen, in someone elses pov....

We see things from the ground floor, behind clothes, in the ceiling... Anywhere.

Every now and then, we get a faint giggle.. Usually when gou is on screen.

At this point they scaled almost the entire mall. Every now and then finding little things. Nothing to eventful. But no matter what, it all keeps leading then to the same point.

Some random door that says "Antiques" on it, in this freakishly terrifying place. The area is the most rusted, old, and overall creepy place. Inside theres smashed pots and this place has alot of scratch marks and decay. The mall may be abandoned, but not for a very long time. This place looks like it has been there for decades, as if it didn't belong there. You could see a lot of struggle, with some old scratch marks and some strangely.. Fresh ones.

Everyone's tired, and worried, and a bit frightened. Though koharu.. She seems more than excited, it wss her own little adventure. It was nice. Of course, she still worried for her poor yamper.. But she couldn't help but be a bit excited too.

During the whole montage, they'd find some fur from pickachu, yamper or eevee. Sometimes left over pokefood or some old remains of what looks to be pokemon battles. Sometimes they saw some old pokeball, abandoned or even smashed. And even noticed some of the Pokemon that had been watching them through cracks or corners, or under floorboards.

Ash and gou finally catch up to koharu, who has been waiting for them in this creepy antique store. Aimlessly wandering about, searching the place. With the whole gang reunited, they discuss what they found, with koharu piecing it togther.

It seems this antique store looked to be the meeting place for who ever stole their pokemon. They show koharu some of the pokeballs they found lying about, some customized, broken and old. None of them have no strange brandings like "R" on it. Meaning people had their pokemon taken, but not by our common baddies. They found some evidence of pokemon battles, some of the tracks still fresh. Meaning they just left recently, probably during when they got here. That would explain why they kept feeling like they where being followed. They're probably all hiding.

But that doesn't explain why they'd take their pokemon or why it lead them in the antique store of all places. Ash suggests that they should look around here too, find some secret lever or something. Goh agrees, but dismisses the thought that someone would have a secret lever in a antique portion of the mall, then again.. Who has an antique store in a mall??

While they're searching for hidden compartments,

They hear a quick "PIKAA!!" Following a loud bang noise. Sending them all to a panic. Ash locates the sound, and moves one of the shelves. Surprise, Surprise, its a secret compartment. Its pitch black and you can't see a thing. Before ash can jump head first into whatever is happening down there, gou catches him. Followed by koharu, taking out that trusty flashlight, and beaming the light on the creepy old stairs. Seemingly going no where but down.

They quickly and carefully descend the stairs, though their all trying to act brave to lift up on another, you can tell everyone is absolutely terrified.

Then they find a light, like an entrance to some room. The hallway was dim and you could see pipes and some garbage, puddles, e.c.t. Gou runs towards the persumed, but ash catches him. He almost fell into a hole, without Realizing it. Koharu goes infront of gou, with the flashlight beaming infront of her.

Cut to a scene of pikachu. He's charging up a weak electric attack, and looks pretty beaten up. So does the rest of the Pokemon. Though, he is doing his best. The basement is pretty big, but its old. Theres some steel pipes that are broken and bent, scratches and marks everywhere on the wall. Its dark, with only a few lights, struggling to illuminate the room.

You can't tell how many pokemon are there, but there are many glowing eyes all around. There are many different kinds of pokemon. Seemingly coming from all different regions too. They don't seem freindly.

Eevee starts to yell out, angered and fustreated. To their suprising, a quick "umberon~" came rom the darkness.

You can see its shiny yellow rings, glowing in the darkness. It yells back at eevee, hitting the ground over and over with its tiny paws. As if it was trying to prove a point, trying to get eevee to fight like their pikachu did. Taunting them.

The umberon wears some kingly robe it got from a costume part of the mall, presumably the halloween section. Category: medieval.

Yamper could see eevee's eagerness to fight, so he lets out a bark of concern. He's huddled next to pikachu, who still wants to keep going. Determined, to stop them.

Whenever eevee hesitates to attack, umberon lets out a disappointed purr, and attacks them with a weak attack, but it stings either way. It wants a fair fight afterrall.

This was an insult to them. A fellow umberon., using smaller pokemon to rank them up, forcing them to train with them, untill they tire out. All these pokemon henchmons had some kind of scar, or evidence of training. Even the umberon had one. Most of them evolved, seemingly living in the mall, as some are wearing human items like sunglasses, or badazzled items too look cooler.

Then they hear a quick "EEVEE! WHERE'D YOU GO?!" And "PIKACHU! ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT?!"

They look back to see its their trainers! And gou, all rushing towards them. Immediately going into the room to protect them. Along with their summoned pokemon charging up their attacks as well.

Seeing this, umberon is pissed. You can see an onslaught of pokemon, who look just as mad. They where crossing their turf, they had to get out.

Umberon curls into the darkness.. Slowly back away from them, in silence.

Untill a tiny, soft. "Umberon" comes out of its mouth and..

They all start to attack, left, right and center. The whole team is surronded. All the pokemon are uncoordinated, but tankish, so they're pretty easy to take down, but leaves you pretty damaged in the long run.

Eventually, they get rid of most of them. Leaving 5 remaining pokemon left. These five being the strongest out of every pokemon and the biggest. Seemingly been in charge for a long time. Basically, its the boss fight.

The pokemon tired them out, and theres not much they can do at this point. Of course they fight, but get taken down, one by one, with ease.

Leading to the grand finale. Everyones on their knees, but still staying strong.

Umberon and its team start to charge this giant attack, thats going blast them into bits and peices.

They charge the attack, for longer and longer and longer. Getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger untill it basically becomes a giant wall. Then they release it. Going full blast at not only the entire team, but the Pokemon behind them that attacked them as well.

The was no where to go.

Pokemon where behind them, and infront.

What do you do then?

Just take it?

Like that?

...

Everyone throws their hand infront of their faces. Away from this giant charge attack, heading towards them in what seems to be slow motion. Some pokemon are running away, others are just watching this happen.

Its a pretty big basement.

Pretty dangerous basement too.

....

Gou looks back for a split second.

And a familiar sound plays out.

A tiny..

little..

giggle.

And then it just stops.

The attack was stuck in place..

...

Then suddenly, behind them in the darkness...

From the entrance of where they came..

Glowing eyes emerge, with a silent.. "Mew!"

And the whole attack backfires onto the 5 pokemon with one, full, swoop.

The place collapses onto them. Knocking 4 pokemon unconscious, except for that..

That..

Umberon.

With the only expression on its face being absolute RAGE.

Everyone starts running out, a bunch of pokemon try to help move the 4 unconscious ones, and umberon runs in the opposite direction, into what might be their secret escape route. They look back, at the commotion.

The 3 little humans and their pokemon are running out, even picking up some of the pokemon, who attacked them, and helping them run away from the collapsing area.

Umberon sees this. But looks away. Muttering a "umber.." Before leaving. This wasn't the last of them.

Everyone safely makes it out of the mall, alive.

Everyone is tired, exhausted and hurt.

They look up to see the many battle scars of all the pokemon, who are just lying around, not knowing what to do anymore without a leader.

Some a bickering and arguing, some are confused and tired, others are just watching from afar.

Eeveee jumps out of koharu's hands, and onto some tall boxes and rocks lying about near he store. They yell out a "EEVEE!!" Which everyone quiets down immediately. They even stiffen up, as if they where trained to do that by the umberon. Which startles eevee and makes them feel uncomfortable.

Ash stands up, looking at his poor pikachu, for a bit. Its smiling, with its eyes closed. Ash gives them a concerned, but soft smile. He tells everyone that they should all go to a pokecenter, and get some rest. The pokemon try to argue, not wanting to go and to wait for their umberon, but they see eevee is following ash, and they end up following along.

Gou runs up to ash and softly pats ash's shoulder, and gives him a soft, but concerned look. Only followed by a smile. Then everyone starts following them to pokemon center.

It cuts to scene, where they show the pokemon center for a sky view. Its night time and everyone is tired. a bunch of the nurses and doctors are taking care of the many pokemon without question.

Ash is sitting there, next to his pikachu, with gou is standing right beside him, and koharu is somewhere off with her pokemon as well. They all have some bandages here and there, on their knees or hands, just watching as nurse joy takes care of pikachu.

She asks what the three of them had done to get not only so many injured pokemon, but get this pikachu in the state its in now.

They explained to the nurse about the whole incident, with this umberon and a giant battle in a basement, and a this abandoned pokemon infested mall. How the umberon acted and all the Pokemon who teamed up agasint them.

Nurse joy recognizes the umberon, to their suprise.

She explains its not the first time shes heard of this umberon. Apparently, its trainer had abandoned it when it was a little eevee. She said that they'd capture pokemon who they saw great potential and power in. One day, the eevee's win streak went away, losing many battles every single day. Thats when they abandoned them, or atleast, thats what they say.

Ash mutters a quick and angered response of why someone would do such a thing.

Nurse joy looks at ash and gou sadly, then returns back to what she was doing. She doesn't know why someone would do that. Though, she tells them she always used to see that same eevee in the pokecenter constantly. For some reason, the pokemon really loved their trainer, to the point of exhaustion. When it got abandoned, it probably took it personally. Who knows though, that umberon is quite the mystery. Some people even tried to catch it seeing how strong it was, but they'd never succeed.

She pauses what shes doing to ask if ash doesn't mind leaving his pikachu here for the night. Its pretty injured, and needs some rest. She wants to be able to take care of it, in case it needs extra care. She says he can see them tomorrow, as it might feel better by then.

He sadly agrees, and they go home for the night.

Here, we get a nice scene, just to calm things doen a bit. The 2 boys put on their cozy pajamas, and get ready to go to bed.

We see koharu in her bedroom, with her pjammas on, petting her yamper who has a cute little "get well soon!!" Sticker, stuck on his forehead, and he has his younger sticking out, as he sleeps. She doing one of those lo-fi girl poses, as she writes in her journal about her day, as a moonlight shines on her, through her window.

We see gou sleeping on the bottom bunk this time, since he's too tired to try to climb to the top. Ash isn't in bed though. He's looking out through the window of the room. With the moonlight coming through. He's tired and exhausted, but still worried for pikachu. Gou notices he's not in bed yet, asking if he's alright. Ash doesn't give a response, he just continues staring.

So gou walks up to him, and ash speaks a bit low. He wonders if pikachu is alright, and the umberon too. The umberon was hurt too, they could've helped it.

Gou looks at him, then out the window. "Sometimes you cant save everyone, and you cant help those that don't want to be helped."

He smiles brightly at ash. "Like catching pokemon!" Ash is confused, but he tries his best to understand. "Sometimes pokemon want to be caught, and some don't. All that matters is that you tried, right?"

Ash looks at gou, and smiles back. Then looks at the window, still smiling "Yeah, you're right.. Do you think pikachu will be okay though?"

Gou softly pats him on the back. He tries his best to comfort ash. "Yeah, i think so."

It goes quiet for a bit. And it zooms out as they both look out at the window.8

With that, it ends here.

[purplesurveys]

1257

Have you ever watched a movie in class/school that made you cry?  Oh for sure. We had to watch It’s A Beautiful Life and I know I cried every single time I watched that movie, whether for school or on my own time.

What’s the earliest you could go to bed at night and feel okay about?  I don’t really get this question. I feel like it would make more sense if it asked how early I’m willing to wake up in the morning...? Anyway, I don’t pay attention to the time I sleep at night. Sometimes I’ll pass out as early as midnight, and sometimes I’ll be up until 3; it doesn’t matter to me.

What is you favorite type of lunch meat?  I’m not into those in general.

What time of the year do you dislike the most?  The heat in April and May is just brutal and uncalled for. It gets so hot and disgustingly humid and most times the aircon can’t even do much to quell it.

Do you put ketchup on your scrambled eggs?  Yeah, banana ketchup since that’s what we usually have a bottle of. Generally, I have banana ketchup with most of my breakfast dishes too.

What is your favorite color to wear? I don’t really have a favorite to wear those days mostly because I barely go out anyway and there’s been little need to update my closet.

Are you an overachiever?  Seems like the type of question you should be asking my parents, not me haha. Personally, though, I’m fairly proud of what I’ve accomplished.

What physical feature do you wish you had (i.e. freckles, curly hair)?  Maybe longer legs and smaller teeth, but I’m not exactly insecure about mine.

What fictional character (i.e. Bambi, Scarlette O'Hara) would you marry? Did you just raise the possibility of marrying a deer? Anyway...since I mentioned Two for the Road in the last survey, I’ll go with Mark from that movie. Seems like my type of partner. 

How long have you gone without shaving (girls- legs, armpits; boys- faces)?  With legs...around 2-3 weeks. Armpits, maybe about a week or so. Never more than a month for either.

What is the meanest thing you have ever said to someone else?  For the most part I’ve always been cautious of what I say; writing, on the other hand...I’ve written stuff on my diary wherein I let out all my frustrations against my mom. I know they were mean because she cried over them – but that also entailed snooping through my stuff, so I’ve never felt bad about it. I meant those things as I wrote them because it was my safe space, and she violated that. That’s on her.

Did you ever go through a phase where you wrote bad poetry?  I did, but I instantly realized it was bad so I stopped as soon as I began.

What is your favorite thing about your life?  How everything seems to have fallen in its place these days. There’s really little to complain about and I’m grateful for that.

Save all the animals that die during road kill or save 1 human from a fire?  Animals.

Have you ever painted a picture of somebody?  No.

How many real bfs/gfs have you had?  One.

Did you enjoy your past relationships?  I did.

Name a comedy that you like. White Chicks. << I love this choice, let’s just go with this one lol.

Could you wait until marriage for sex?  Sure.

What’s the best Nirvana song?  I don’t listen to them. I know a couple of songs but I don’t like them enough to be my favorites.

What was the last thing that impressed you?  The new Butter remix with Megan Thee Stallion.

When was the last time you were in a pet store?  Years, years ago.

What nationality is your last name?  Spanish or Portuguese, I’m not super sure.

What’s your favorite kind of chips and dip?  I never dip my chips; I just have them as is.

Who was the last boy that you saw cry?  Idk...maybe one of my cousins from one of our family reunions last year. I don’t get to be around a lot of boys or guys.

Does your mom know you do surveys?  No. I’ve never had to raise it and I can’t see a situation where I would have to.

Have you ever had a serious injury?  Yeah, I got a big wound from when I went snorkeling around a decade ago. I wasn’t provided flippers so when I was kicking to stay afloat I managed to hit the coral reefs underneath repeatedly, which majorly scraped and gashed my left foot until it was an open, bleeding mess. It was infected for weeks and I’m surprised it didn’t leave any kind of mark or scar.

What was the last thing you achieved?  Handling a campaign for a major client successfully and getting good coverage and results for it.

Would you enjoy being famous?  Probably, but I wish I had some sort of talent or skill that would propel me to popularity in the first place hahaha.

What’s under your bed?  Some things I collected from past hobbies and interests, like all my old wrestling magazines.

Do you enjoy travelling?  Love it.

Have you ever belonged to a club? If so, what was it?  I mean I joined an org in college, which technically makes me a member for life. I’m not name-dropping but it’s one of the two journalism organizations in my alma mater.

When was the last time you drank strawberry milk?  I can’t recall. I don’t drink strawberry milk.

Have you ever managed to collect all the fast food toys in a set?  I never collected those.

Do you have a clock in your room?  Nope.

Did you have a good driver’s ED teacher?  I honestly can’t remember. I only had like three sessions with different instructors for each, and the one instructor I remember having was extremely cranky and impatient.

Which of Britney Spears’ songs is your favorite?  Hold It Against Me is pretty fun.

Does mind over matter work for you?  Sure.

Are you paranoid?  Oh yeah. Overthinker is pretty much my middle name.

What is the best thing about winter?  I wouldn’t know but considering the things associated with it, I’ve always believed it would be my favorite season.

Have you ever been truly in love?  Hmm. I think so, yeah. I’d give myself that.

Are you currently planning a trip?  Nah. Nothing set in stone, but Angela, Reena, and I have been talking about flying to South Korea next year. We’ll see.

How many plants are in your home?  Several. My mom is a bit of a fan, but it’s nothing obsessive.

What is your favorite possession?  I treasure my BTS merch, I guess haha. Nobody is allowed to touch them or move them around without my permission. As often as my mom likes to barge in my room and touch my stuff, she seems to understand and doesn’t lay a finger on any of the merch either.

Have you ever felt like you were too nice and way too often overlooked?  Sure. But it's never really mattered to me; it just feels nice to be nice and do nice things for people. It does feel nice to be thanked, but I don’t necessarily do it for the recognition.

What movies have tripped you out?  I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Midsommar, Anomalisa, Under the Skin, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and The Killing of A Sacred Deer are a few of them.

Did you rollerblade as a kid? Do you still rollerblade?  Yesssss, I even had a pair as a kid. I got into it because I loved to ice skate, but it turned out I wasn’t as good as gliding on the ground so I ultimately preferred ice skating. Anyway, no, I haven’t done rollerblading in years.

Would you ever settle into a relationship that wasn’t right for you? Do you know friends who are in relationships just so they have someone to sleep with at night?  I did. I stayed because it’s where I felt safe and I didn’t know where else to go or what else to do outside of it.

Would you take a dirty picture of yourself for someone you are dating?  Sure.

Do you use earplugs or a sleeping mask when you sleep?  Nope. I find them more distracting than anything else, and they actually keep me from sleeping.

What summertime treats do you love?  I don’t have any.

How picky are you when it comes to choosing who to kiss or not kiss? I am VERY picky. I have to be really interested in you. < Yeah, this sounds about right.

What do you hate most about moving?  The last time we moved was in 2008...and I don’t really remember disliking any part of it. I was actually excited for us to have a home all to ourselves after living with extended family in a cramped house all my life.

Do you feel that having sex anywhere but a bed is more exciting?  Depends where. Sometimes it can be exciting, sometimes it can be inconvenient but you kinda do it out of desperation lol.

Do you drink 5 hour energy drinks or any other kinds of energy drinks?  No, I’m scared of how it would affect my body so I’ve never tried.

Has anyone ever whistled at you?  Countless random men.

Do you like scarves?  They can be comfy if I’m traveling somewhere cold...but I don’t really get to do that often, so.

Is your father homophobic?  I haven’t seen any signs from him. My mom is much more likely to exhibit internalized homophobia – she just did the other night.

Do you take gummy vitamins?  No, only when I was a teenager.

Have you ever applied make-up on a guy, for any reason at all?  I don’t think so, nothing I can recall.

Who would you like to meet before you die?  I don’t have any goal person in mind.

If your dream was to be a model, and a big opportunity came up, but you had to be nude, would you take it? Hmm, probably not. What’s the most ridiculous conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of?  The Avril Lavigne doppelganger one is extremely hilarious and I read up so many thread about it on Twitter just so I can see how far people can stretch it.

If Heaven and Hell exists, where are you going when you die?  I don’t care.

Who is the person that you are afraid of losing, above everyone else?  Either of my best friends.

What is one thing that pisses you off pretty much everyday?  The weather.

Is there anyone you know that you feel should consider therapy?  My mom.

Do you like any of the songs on Twilight, or the actual movie/saga itself?  Yeah the soundtracks are actually fucking great. The person who took this survey before me named Supermassive Black Hole by Muse, and that’s one of my favorites from all the soundtracks. The song Slow Life in New Moon is nice, too. How old was the first person you kissed?  She was 17, going on 18.

Will you be a strict parent one day?  I’d have some rules set but I wouldn’t suffocate my kids.

Last person to stand up for you?  Heck if I know. I can do that for myself.

Have you been to a baby shower?  No.

Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater?  My ex.

What’s your favorite high school memory?  Hiding a same-sex relationship from my conservative, homophobic Catholic teachers.

Do you like relationships, or do you prefer to be single?  I like being single these days.

What is one adventurous thing you’d be willing to do?  Trying out the Nevis Swing in New Zealand.

What subject at school did you absolutely hate?  I saw no point in studying chemistry.

Italian food or Chinese food?  Chinese. I like Italian cuisine, but sometimes I find it a tad bit salty for my taste.

Do you like to make flash cards when you study?  Not flash cards but sometimes I’ll write my notes down in several index cards because for some reason I retain information better that way.

Has anyone ever told you that you’re a good singer?  No.

Do you ever watch TED talks, live or online?  No. I never saw the appeal of most of them, honestly.

I dare you to write the name of a person you strongly dislike.  Gabie.

What do you think about Marilyn Manson?  I have nothing to say about him tbh. 

Biggest trouble you’ve ever gotten into at school?  Nothing beyond getting into an argument with this kid in 2nd grade and getting sent to the counselor’s office for it.

Do you own one of those “professional” DSLR cameras?  I used to, until I handed it down to my sister...and until she let it smash onto the ground because she didn’t place it on her tripod properly when she was filming one time. I still don’t get why she’s so defensive about it; I wish she’d just admit she majorly fucked up on that. Does it bother you when you see a 6th grader with a bunch of gadgets?  It makes me silently judge the parents more so than letting myself be bothered by a child.

Did you buy yearbooks every year in high school, or did you not bother?  We’re not offered the chance to get yearbooks unless we’re in graduating years.

Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome?  No.

Jalapeños: yay or nay?  YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

Did you ever play Minecraft? No. I can’t care less.

Did you ever have a Club Penguin account? Were you a member?  I didn’t.

Do you know anyone that seems to not have any common sense?  Me, sometimes. Hahahaha.

What do you think is the biggest injustice that was ever done to you?  The way I was broken up with, like what the person who last took this said. I’m not tortured by it and her anymore, but I don’t think I deserved to intensely mull over about what I could have possibly done to be broken up with the way she did.

What type of person angers you the most? Abusive people that think only they matter and have no consideration for how their actions affect other people. < This pretty much hits the nail on the head on how my ex is, so I’ll just go ahead and agree.

If you could change your appearance, how would you alter it?  I’d get braces again and...that’s it, really.

What are your feelings on feminism?  I support it and I support how it advocates equality.

Describe your first relationship?  I’ve only had one relationship so I’ll just answer the following question.

Describe your last relationship?  Internally toxic; uhhh healthy at some points I guess, when she wasn’t being a selfish prick; a disaster towards the end.

Can you honestly say that you always practice safe sex?  I honestly don’t know what constitutes ‘safe sex’ in a same-sex relationship, sooooo idk if I have.

Why do you think your most favorite film touches you so deeply?  It’s a realistic take on love and I appreciate that it took its sweet time to highlight the ugly sides of love and marriage. Also, Audrey Hepburn taking her acting chops to the next level was just beautiful to watch. She was always a fantastic actress in all her movies, but I could tell her acting in Two for the Road had just a little bit more depth to it.

What do you want people you meet for the first time to think about you?  That I’m nice and approachable.

Do you feel protective over someone?  My friends.

What perfume/cologne do you wear?  Heat Rush.

Where did your vehicle come from?  My parents got it for me as a high school grad gift.

What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to?  I haven’t been to a wedding since 2007, and back then I was designated as a flower girl lol. I’ve never been to a wedding where I was chosen to be a bridesmaid.

What is your favorite way to eat chicken?  CHICKEN SANDWICH. Also chicken wings.

It is your birthday. You hope the cake is:  Oreo cheesecake topped with 24 macarons.

What do you wear to bed?  Something thin and airy.

What were you doing at 8pm last night?  I was watching Bon Voyage.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Tylenol and Tequila - Chapter 6 - Connie’s Diaries Part 1

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, dawsey bashing (sorry guys I rewatched and episode and I was in a mood), mention of sex, I think that’s it

A/N: Wow, I actually finished something. Sorry for the long wait everyone, my life has been gettinmg crazier by the minute and it’s speeding up not slowing down so please bear with me.

He was currently hiding from Cruz in the turnout room, busying himself with cleaning equipment and doing inventory. It was mind-numbingly boring, but Blake was pretty appreciative of that at the moment. He and Gianna had been pretty flirty since day one, but now it was getting more serious. It wasn’t harmless banter anymore, it was actually going somewhere. Meaningful looks, sensual touches, and heavy words. At this point, all that they had to do was follow through, so to speak, something Cruz was hell-bent on stopping. And if he was being honest, Blake was leaning towards Cruz’s desired outcome than the one he and Gianna had been moving towards. Hermann always had stories, of himself, other firefighters, and of his family. It got Blake thinking about his future, about his possible future with Gianna... When he heard Kidd and Brett quietly comforting each other. 

“I just don’t understand what’s happening with Kelly. I thought we were good, I thought he was good. I thought that he wasn’t going to ghost and shut me out anymore.”

“I don’t deserve to be second best. I don’t deserve to be a placeholder for Dawson. What kind of answer is ‘I don’t know’? Who doesn’t know if they would immediately run back to their ex if given the chance? I miss him so much, but he’s... He doesn’t get to treat me that way. No one does.”

And he stopped for a moment, ignored the loud thrum of machinery, and perseverance, and conversation that beat throughout the firehouse, and remembered the stories Hermann had told him. The bad ones. They echoed through his head as he made his way to the turnout room to actually be able to think and process his thoughts.

Captain Casey was married to Gabby Dawson before she left and divorced him.

Joe Cruz and Sylvie Brett dated for a brief moment but broke up because Brett couldn’t handle his overprotective routine.

Stella Kidd and Kelly Severide dated once before but broke up because Kelly was being, to put it nicely, an asshole, and was repeating a lot of that behaviour now.

And there were more, so many more relationships that didn’t work out for one way or another, that he found out about while helping with some of the office paperwork, and while cleaning out the desk of a woman named Connie who had retired, he found a notebook filled with firehouse gossip and relationship charts going back decades. As Blake thought back to the flower decorated notebook currently lying on his nightstand at home (hey, don’t judge him, there’s some really juicy stuff in there) another thought occurred to him. The only successful 51 couples didn’t work together. Hermann and Cindy, Mouch and Trudy, Chief and Donna, Joe and Chloe, Darren and Eric. 

Every single firehouse couple has fallen apart. Issues include but are not limited to; one person being secretly in love with someone else, lying, poor communication, cheating accusations, overprotectiveness at work, jealousy, manipulation, political campaigns, vegas marriages, courthouse weddings because of reasons that don’t involve wanting to get married, fallen through adoptions, fertility issues, moving to another region at the drop of a hat. Seriously, firehouse 51 was a hotspot for drama. 

He hung up the last freshly cleaned turncoat, trying to avoid the conclusion he’d come to in his solitary. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape it, especially when he heard Gianna ask Ritter around the corner if he knew where he was. Damn.

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

He laid in his bed, his lamp illuminating Connie’s old notebook in front of him. He was reading the section from when Casey and Hallie were together, Connie went on a rant about Gabby’s behaviour towards Hallie just because she was jealous Casey didn’t love her. He probably shouldn’t have been reading what was essentially someone’s diary. He definitely shouldn’t have been. But he couldn’t stop reading, the gossip was really entertaining for one thing, but it was just too eye-opening to put down. Even though they are divorced Casey and Dawson were still regarded as the golden couple of 51, something that made his captain incredibly uncomfortable. Hermann and Mouch talk about their relationship all the time, through rose-coloured glasses apparently. They talk about how in love Dawson was before they got together. What they didn’t mention was that she actively flirted with him while he was engaged to someone else. She pushed him to run for alderman, basked in the light of being called his wife when she wasn’t, and then resented him for winning because he had to spend time away from her. They got married spontaneously at the courthouse after a call, but it was actually because Dawson wanted to keep Louie, the boy she decided to foster after telling Casey she didn’t see a serious future for them. For almost every heart-melting romantic tale that had been woven about them the thread used had been made of toxicity and blinding lust. Every loving, Disney moment apparently actually belonged to Shakespeare. Selfishness, manipulation, and hypocrisy all disguised as a fairy tale for the ages.

Based on her writing, Connie was a straight-forward, honest woman with no time or patience for anyone’s bullshit. And, in her words, ‘it was a miracle I survived a front row seat to that trainwreck’. Personally, Blake was dumbfounded that no one else saw what Connie did. And while ‘Dawsey’ definitely wasn’t the only toxic relationship 51 had to bear witness to it was the most revered which was it’s own kind of horrifying.

What stuck out to him the most though, was how they all acted at work. While hooking up in the turnout room did sound a little thrilling, Blake was a little grossed out with himself for thinking that now knowing just how often that happened and that it’s where Annabelle Hermann was conceived apparently. The worst though was how they acted on calls. Overprotective, jealous, directly interfering with work. He wanted to say he understood their feelings, but why get involved with someone when you both work dangerous jobs and don’t want to see them in danger? It’s going to happen, and trying to sheild their significant other from danger instead of preparing for that one awful day does nothing but cause relationship problems and limit their career.

Blake shook his head and sighed. It was late, he needed to sleep. He was on shift tomorrow, and he’d have to avoid Gianna as much as possible during those 24 hours.

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

He woke up to knocking on his door. According to his alarm clock, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. He was a little perplexed as to why someone would be at his door this late and anxiety settled into his gut. He didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. He tried to shake off the feeling on his walk from his bedroom to his front door, but was unsuccessful. He felt justified when he saw Gianna on the other side of the peep hole. He purposefully sidestepped the usual invitation to Molly’s, he just went home and immersed himself in food and Connie’s diary, ignoring the way his phone vibrated more than once. He contemplated what to do, he knew they needed to talk but he was just trying to delay the awkward conversation. 

“Hey.”

“Hey, you weren’t at Molly’s and you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Been a little busy.” He gestured to the time and prayed that she would take the hint.

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna stay. I kinda just wanted to make sure you weren’t moping around. You know, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah, I’m like that.” He smiled, because it’s true. She is like that, and he hopes that she finds everything she’s looking for and more, just not with him. “Seriously, I feel so badly about pushing you into telling that story.”

“Don’t. Everything that happened with Casey’s on me. Hey, uh, do you want to come in for a sec?”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to take anymore of your hanging-out-looking-hot-in-sweats time.”

“I get the feeling that you do... Which is why you should come in, I guess. We... We need to talk.” That amused, flirty look she got when joking around with him vanished and now she looked... Concerned? Embarrassed? Regardless, she nodded silently and came in.

“I found a few diaries of someone who used to work at 51, but I’ve mostly been sticking to the most recent one because it involves some people who are still at 51. It’s huge and they has years of entries. Most are from before Casey and Severide got stationed there. The stuff that I’ve been reading, particularly about firehouse romances, it threw me for a loop. No 51 firehouse romance has ever actually been successful. Sure some get married but they don’t stay married. Some break up and stay on good enough terms, some tear each other apart, some are just flings that end as quickly as they started and are never mentioned again. In all of them though there’s just... There’s so much tension and conflict. It’s always so impulsive. Someone was too reckless, someone was too overprotective, they bring work home with them, or they bring home to work, the list goes on. I really like you, but I think that you deserve better than that. We both do. So I don’t want to start anything between us, because I think that we’ll be better off as friends and co-workers.”

“Blake, I really like you too, why don’t you want to try? Is this about Joe? Don’t you think that we’ll be different? We know what to avoid, what not to do. We could make a relationship work.”

“It’s not about Cruz, I promise you that. You’re your own person more than capable of making your own decisions. And as for us being different, know what to not to do... That’s what they all say. Literally. Connie made snarky comments every time a new couple got together. She guessed when they were going to break up and usually got it pretty close. We won’t be special, we won’t be different. I know how horrible this sounds, Gianna, but I think that getting together romantically is a bad idea waiting to burn to the ground and I really value our friendship too much for that.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“Giann-”

“Call me Mackey.”

“Gian-”

“If you’re just my friend, you can call me Mackey like all my other friends. Like you said, we’re not ‘special’.” And then she slammed his door so hard that he knew he would be hearing from his landlord because the lady at the end of the hall complained about everything. “Great. Just great.”

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

Blake got to work and immediately doubted himself. How could he say that to Gianna? How could he have been so callous? Basing his decision about whether or not he wanted a relationship with her from diaries written by a retired secretary he hadn’t even met? What was he thinking? Why wouldn’t they be special? They had chemistry and affection, love would come later. Could anything be salvaged?

... But then he saw Grainger in the common room flirting with Brett while Casey looked he was about to murder the other lieutenant and his resolve solidified. He made the right decision. She gave him the cold shoulder blatantly. Everyone noticed, sent him looks, he just shook his head. Telling them not to get involved, he wasn’t going to drag her through this. Gianna deserved better.

And she got better. She stransferred out of 51 a few weeks later and Blake was terrified that he was the reason, he never wanted to make her feel unwelcome or pushed out. He’d cornered her in the firehouse once he heard her plans. She just giggled and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not about you. Like you said, I’m my own person, more than capable of maing my own decisions. I’m taking this transfer because it feels like the best fit for me and the future that I want for myself. You’re not special, Blake.” She had that teasing glimmer in her eyes he hadn’t seen since she showed up at his apartment, and it was the first time she’d said his first name since. “Well, that’s a lie. You’re a little special. You have this way of bringing out the best in people, but I don’t think you see it... I’m going to miss seeing you at work, but I’ll hang around Molly’s every once in a while. I’m too invested in brettsey now to just quit cold turkey.” She smiled brightly, but he couldn’t force himself to, cursed with the knowledge of Connie’s diaries. “Hey, I know those diaries revealed a lot, and I think you were right about us, but hold out hope for them. And for stellaride. They all bring out too much good and happiness from each other to have you prophesizing their future pain. They’ll end up alright. You’ll see.” 

Blake’s eyes met hers from across the table at Severide and Kidd’s wedding, smiled at her boyfriend, wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, and said the words he knew she was waiting to hear. “You were right, Gianna.”

“Of course I was.”

[anthropologicalhands]

r/n - i've been working on my backwards walk / there's nowhere else for me to go / except back to you just one last time / say yes before i change my mind

As Rebecca tries to be sanguine about nearing forty, seeing it as a peak rather than a slide into decay (a Naomi-fostered distortion that has proven remarkably difficult to shake), one thing that has comforted Rebecca over the last decade is that with experience, she’s learned how to handle all matter of situations with grace, simply because she’s seen them before.

Revisiting this particular situation, however, is not what she expected.

It starts with an invitation delivered to Rebecca’s house to Hebby’s fifth grade graduation. There wouldn’t be anything strange about such a thing, even after she gets over the orange-and-turquoise astronaut theme (Hebby was going through a bit of a NASA phase), were it not for the fact the invitation was also addressed to Nathaniel.

Rebecca and Nathaniel, specifically.

Still frowning and trying to ignore the weird ringing that just went through her head at the jolt of seeing hers and Nathaniel’s names juxtaposed across a piece of lurid cardstock—like they’re a unit, or something—Rebecca credits herself with just pulling her phone out and calling Darryl directly instead of diving headfirst into a panic spiral.

“Rebecca!” Darryl’s voice booms from the other end of the line, and Rebecca can’t help the reflexive grin—Darryl’s unflagging enthusiasm while raising four daughters remains nothing short than a scientific marvel. “What a surprise. How is my favorite pretzel singer?”

“Hey, Darryl. Quick question for you. I got your card—”

“Isn’t it great? Hebby picked out the colors specially.”

“I’ll bet she did. But that’s not why I was calling, actually. I was wondering if, perchance, you might have had a shortage of such eye-popping invitations?”

“What do you mean?”

“My invitation was addressed to me and Nathaniel, which, I can definitely send him the deets, no problem, but wouldn’t an email be easier?”

“Oh?” She can hear Darryl’s mustache frown from the other end of the phone. “You mean you and Nathaniel aren’t…”

“Well, he doesn’t live here,” snaps Rebecca, a little flustered. “Why would you think that? Why did you think—did he—”

“Hang on,” says Darryl, and she can hear him calling for April, leaving her stuttered rejection hanging.

Are her and Nathaniel—

How is that even a question anymore?

It’s been a decade, and everyone involved with that event has definitively moved forward with their lives. Her and Josh were a definitive ‘no’ from that fateful Valentine’s Day onwards, remaining dear friends instead, and she was very much the ‘cool aunt’ among his own children. Her and Greg had wavered briefly for a bit afterwards, ran into some seriously uncomfortable friction, and it took them the better part of two years to find a good balance. It probably helped that she accidentally connected him to the woman who would become his wife, but that was a story for another day.

And it was a similar story with Nathaniel. He went to Guatemala for two years, came back and split his time between helping at MountainTop and working with some volunteer legal capacity with the local zoos and her and him—

Ah. Well.

Okay, so it wasn’t quite as clearly defined with Nathaniel, beyond the general fact that she wanted him to be happy, and he wanted her to be happy, and generally their relationship since his return had been checking in on each other, making fun of their weird hobbies and still showing up to events that were important to each other. It was all very adult and friendly and open. Their friendship had appropriate limits and boundaries and they supported each other in the respective relationships they had tried over the years, and it was very platonic…

Well. Except when it wasn’t. There hadn’t been a repeat of the Mona incident ever, and Rebecca could honestly say that she really liked a couple of the long-term girlfriends he’d introduced to them since then, and was genuinely regretful when those relationships ended. Especially for Sylvia, the LA Zoo curator who had to move for her career. Not that the regret wasn’t complicated by other factors, like when Nathaniel had admitted privately to Rebecca later that as much as he liked Sylvia, he just couldn’t see himself leaving California again.

She didn’t get butterflies at that, exactly, because but there had been a comfort in knowing that Nathaniel was content to remain in her orbit.

Again, not entirely uncomplicated. But it was nothing beyond the usual messy spectrum of human emotion internally, and never acted on externally.

She’s dated on and off as suited her libido and her schedule and her desire to find a life partner. She’s had relationships that got serious enough to talk about the future on and off, but they’ve all ended too for reasons inherent to those dynamics themselves. Nathaniel had been a good friend while they were going on, and a shoulder to cry on after, and well, okay, they might have fallen back into bed together a few times over the years, but they never pretended that it was either more than it was or that it was some forbidden thing that wouldn’t happen again. It was what it was.

Well. And they hung out, sometimes. And occasionally were each other’s plus-ones to public events. And friends’ weddings. And quite possibly—

Hm.

It really, really doesn’t help her case that she’s going to see him tonight, either.

“Rebecca?” Darryl tears her out of her thoughts. “Sorry about that! I think there was just a mistake at the stationary shop and they put your cards in together. What are the odds? I might need to call the other parents on the list, just to make sure that they got theirs all right. Could you take that one to Nathaniel? I don’t know if it’s out of your way—”

“Not at all!” says Rebecca, smiling with all of her teeth even though Darryl can’t see her, her cheeks aching. “Not even remotely.”

“Good,” says Darryl, and she can hear him beaming from the other side of the line.

~

“So, a funny thing happened on the way to your apartment…”

“That’s ominous,” comments Nathaniel, taking the bag of groceries she shoves at him without complaint as he closes the door behind her. Rebecca kicks off her shoes and toes them out of the walkway, abiding by Nathaniel’s still oft-repeated entreaties to not leave her personal belongings strewn entirely across his apartment.

“It’s not ominous so much as luminous,” says Rebecca, reaching into her purse and withdrawing Hebby’s invitation with a little flourish of the wrist. “Well, fluorescent.”

“Oh my god.”

Nathaniel accepts the card and flicks it open, scanning through the cheerful, only slightly grammatically incorrect message, and cannot quite suppress an amused huff of laughter. Rebecca hides her own smile as she turns away to set her purse on the very useful hook Nathaniel installed for her own use. Like herself, Nathaniel has a soft spot for Hebby, despite his continued awkwardness around children.

“Right? She gets that from Darryl for sure.”

“I don’t know, I remember someone showing up in some pink and purple eyesore into a law firm the very first day I met her.”

“You just didn’t know fun when you saw it,” says Rebecca instead, perching on the edge of the couch. “But it was funny. I was worried for a second that he thought that we were a couple or something. How weird is that?”

She is completely, totally casual in her delivery of that line, she knows. A decade in community theater and singing gigs have certainly finetuned her ability to turn a phrase, if nothing else. But something must be slightly offkey, because Nathaniel snaps up from marveling at the card to eye her suspiciously.

“Very weird,” he says, after a slightly-too-long pause. “Do we seem like a couple? Why would we seem like a couple when we aren’t a couple?”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” She punches him companionably on the arm; apparently too hard, if the way he winces and rubs at his bicep is any consideration.

(She’s been taking workout classes with Valencia—she deserves something for all that pain.)

“But it’s probably nothing,” she adds, determined to address this weird little misstep directly, because they are both too old to be having any kinds of weird misunderstandings anymore. “We’re close. We have our own rhythm, our own special two step. No wonder Darryl got confused.”

“He’s getting old,” says Nathaniel.

“Dude, c’mon.”

“What? It’s true.”

“What about you, Mister Gray?” Rebecca challenges. Nathaniel pulls a face in response, clearly fighting the urge to brush his hand through the aforementioned silvering at his temples.

(He wasn’t quite vain enough to dye his hair yet, though Rebecca credits his restraint to the fact that she would never let him hear the end of it.)

“It’s just a couple of hairs,” he says inconsequentially, as though it hasn’t been long established that between the two of them, he’s the one with the greater fear of aging, and therefore in far more danger of aging gracelessly.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Rebecca hops off the couch and grabs him by the elbow. “Now c’mon, let’s make sure make these sweet potatoes are not oh-sweet-pies-don’t!”

~

Heading over to Nathaniel’s place had left Rebecca feeling on edge, not quite sure how to process the idea of someone, anyone, considering her and Nathaniel as a potential couple this late in the game.

Nothing is more grounding, however, than seeing Nathaniel being clearly so off kilter, missing steps in what should be a well-worn dance of theirs by now. Dancing has always been their thing—where they once threw each other off at every possible moment, shaking up their convictions about life and happiness and how that concept could exist within their previously compartmentalized existences. Now, they were familiar with each other. Comfortable. Predictable.

They knew each other’s moves now, which means that she could see Nathaniel’s as clear as water.

He’s unfocused during dinner, a little erratic in his answers, jittery, as if he’s had too much coffee. It’s putting her off her rhythm, and while she knows that not everything in life needs to be a big song and dance production, there does need to be some kind of continuity.

This evening was supposed to be easygoing and relaxing. And, yes, probably beneficial in that very particular friends-with-benefits way. But since that clearly wasn’t going to happen, they needed to execute a sharp left turn and get this all settled.

“Nathaniel?” she repeats, for the third time.

“Hm?”

“Are you getting hard of hearing in your old age?” He scowls deeply at her in response. “Yeah, yeah, I had to ask. So, what’s bugging you?”

He’s silent for a long minute. “Just something ridiculous.”

“Yeah?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t need to go through it again. It’s just spinning in circles around the same old subject.”

“Try a jazz square then.”

That startles a laugh out of him, much to Rebecca’s satisfaction. Good to know that she still has some capacity for surprise with him. She continues, “You know that move, right? Don’t tell me you forgot about Connie.”

“Are you kidding? I still have nightmares about her scarf strangling me to death.”

“Dark.”

“She was terrifying.”

“Yeah.” They sit in companionable silence. Then Nathaniel sighs.

“Sorry I’m being weird. I just…hearing that from you, I always thought it would just be a good laugh. You know, ridiculous to even think about romance again. But it made me feel weird instead, so now I’m acting slightly weird.”

“I wouldn’t say slightly,” teases Rebecca, unable to resist. Nathaniel doesn’t return her smile.

“Rebecca, I like where we are. I like that our relationship isn’t a big production anymore.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I love drama on the stage, but that’s definitely where it should stay.” She drums her fingers on her thigh, subconsciously tapping out a tune that’s been giving her trouble these last few weeks. “We can learn new steps, you know. Old dogs, new tricks? That doesn’t only apply to the bedroom.”

Nathaniel (again, predictably) groans.

“Aren’t you getting too old to have such a dirty mind?” But he’s smiling, now.

“Nah. I fully intend to be a filthy old woman. But seriously,” she adds, moving to sit besides him on the couch. “If just the thought of other people thinking that we’re a couple again is enough to send us both off balance, we need to center ourselves. Maybe it’s something worth talking about. What do you say?”

She reaches out and grabs his hand, and starts to tap a rhythm against his large palm—one of the first she ever composed, the first one her friends ever danced to. After a moment, he taps back, completing it.

“Yes.”

[bluebellhairpin]

Something’s Not Right

Bruce Wayne/Batman X Batmom!Reader 

A/N: Oh dear, here comes the angst. (This is like 6+ pages on my google docs. Ha Ha ha oops) - Nemo

Warning(s): Blood, kidnapping, almost character death, mentions of miscarriage and infertility, not necessarily in that order. This could be distressing, so don’t read this if you think it could upset you. 

Summary: Ever since Batman’s third Robin, you’ve been know as the Batmom to Batman’s mask. But events lead you to break with not knowing what to do, and the only comfort you find is Alfred, who then tells you of something you never knew. With your newfound information, you set to work saving your family.

Listening to: “Something's Not Right” by Lily Allen 

Series Masterlist 

Masterlist 

You first met Batman when you were robbing a bank. 

In your defense, you were a little inexperienced, and he only knew you were there because he saw a shadow pass inside through a window. 

After that you kept running into each other, and ended up becoming each others first vigilante partners. 

You know, before he had a million Robin’s. 

You even came to know who was under the mask. Bruce Wayne the billionaire. 

When he brought home the first soon-to-be Robin, Dick Grayson, you were raiding his fridge in the Manor’s kitchen, having made yourself at home over the last few years. You looked at Bruce like he was crazy, he told you he’d explain later and you sure as hell made sure he did. 

You offered Dick some of the cereal you’d raided, and he accepted with a mumble and small smile. From speaking to Bruce later, that boy had been through a lot. 

You only hoped that Bruce wouldn’t push him too hard. 

We had forever We never got it together

Jason Todd joined a few years later, having been found by both you and Bruce trying to steal hubcaps. When Bruce brought him inside after the to had talked, you got the horrible feeling that Jason would become a Robin too. 

Your worries were confirmed when you caught Bruce and Jason sparring in the cave. You caught Bruce’s eye, and he froze. You shook your head at him and he knew he had more explaining to do.

After that, you become monitor of the computer. With Jason as the new Robin, and Dick starting to spread his wings off as Nightwing, you didn’t desperately need to be out fighting anymore. Someone needed to stay home, and with your relationship with Bruce becoming something more than friends, he felt better when you weren’t in danger. 

When he brought that up, you never once failed to play the card of “What about Dick and Jason?” 

Despite Dick being Nightwing and not living permanently at home, or Jason not really wanting to be in the Cave when he could have the house all to himself aside from Alfred, they always managed to be in the staircase of the cave when your voices started to raise in the same heated discussion. They knew it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You were protective, viewing them as the sons you could never have, and Bruce was too careless for his own good. 

But really what they stayed for was what happened after the yelling, the telling off, and the arguing. You always made up after, with softer words, a hug and a kiss. They’d never seen anyone else do that after a fight.

I waited for you For you I made it better

Jason's death hit you all hard, but Bruce didn’t get over it. 

Then, a couple years after Jason died, Bruce came home with another boy donned in Jason’s old Robin suit. He introduced himself as Tim Drake. He said he knew who you were, and you told him ‘Who doesn’t know (y/n) Wayne?’. Then he said he knew who you really were. 

'Valentine' was a name previously not spoken directly to you in over half a decade, and this thirteen-year-old seemed to know more about you than you thought possible. 

The next few years went on with their own struggles. Bruce got used to having a Robin again. Tim dealt with troubles and struggles in the form of his real parents. You got over the fact Tim was wearing Jason’s costume once he got his own. And Tim became a permanent residence of the manor. 

With Bruce and Dick protecting the city, Tim as Robin, and Alfred wanting to keep monitor duty with Tim, you gave up the vigilante life for good. 

Nowadays you only ever went to the cave to deal with injuries, last-resort monitor duty, and scolding Bruce or Tim for staying up too late. 

The one thing that didn’t seem to change was Alfred and Dick. They were always there, always a shoulder to cry on, and a listening ear. They knew how hard it got for both you and Bruce. 

Dick wanted to be there to show he was grateful for what you’d done in the past. 

Alfred was there because that’s where he belonged. 

They kept telling me that it was unlikely All I had to do was keep you beside me

Once everything seemed to be falling back into a semi-blissful state, the world served another harsh blow. The first was to Bruce, in the form of a vengeful and now alive Jason Todd. 

While Bruce had to serve every night going out to face the Red Hood, you went back to the monitor spending your days trying to track Jason down. Now that your boy was back you needed to have him home. Even though they didn’t know it, you knew that what both Bruce and Jason needed  was to be together. 

Naturally, once the initial tension disappeared, you were right. 

Even now, now that Jason is back, you can still see the haunted look in Bruce’s eye that makes you think he’s almost believing he is seeing a ghost.

The second blow was to you, in the form of Bruce’s long-lost son Damian. 

He came in silence, and for the first few days you barely noticed a change. It was mostly Bruce’s attitude and reluctance to let you in the cave that made you suspicious. Luckily for Bruce, he was around when you found Damian in the cave. 

Needless to say it took a good couple hours of conversation before everything was cleared up.

Damian listened from the staircase, and eventually Tim wordlessly joined. The new duo unknowingly recreating what their predecessors did before them. Alfred felt a wave of nostalgia from just glancing at them. 

What Damian couldn’t believe through the whole ‘discussion’ was how much you were blaming his father for him being in your home, not him. Even though you both were fighting over him being there, there wasn’t any hate in your words to him, only annoyance to Bruce. 

He wondered exactly how many times you had to deal with the same thing before, aside from Tim. 

Cause there aren’t many stars in the sky tonight

As far as you were concerned, having children of your own was never going to happen. One robbery gone wrong was enough to pull your chances of your own children from an already mere fifty to less than twenty.  

It was one of the reasons you were so good at welcoming each boy into your home with such open arms. As soon as they stepped through the threshold with a tired introduction from your husband, small faces and bleary eyes, you saw them as yours. Every time, without fail.

Naturally it came as a shock to you when the doctor told you to take a pregnancy test after you’d been horrendously sick for the past week. It came as a bigger shock when the test came back positive. 

Bruce’s excitement and yours was taken too soon. In reality, you knew it could’ve happened, but you didn’t think it’d happen so suddenly, or so easily. 

Dick and Jason were among those waiting when you came home from the hospital, and everyone would've much preferred if the trip happened nine months later, and you’d have a bundle of blankets in your hands rather than just a bag of clothes. 

Even Damian couldn’t help the horrible feeling in the bottom of his stomach. After all he still wouldn’t be a big brother. 

It had been a couple weeks, but you were starting to worry. While you had grieved, and in your own way moved on, Bruce seemed to stay the same. He didn’t react. When the news came he went straight into autopilot. 

In his life he’d lost a lot of people. His parents, Jason, many other residence of Gotham, and now your baby. You started to think that with every lost soul his lost part of his own too. 

Cause I know that it’s day but it’s dark outside

Your worries were well served. Not even a couple nights after you voiced your concerns to Bruce himself did he and Damian get captured by the Joker. 

Tim was monitoring the computers, instantly sending out and alert to Dick to go help, but he just got caught too. Tim then contacted Jason, telling him to meet him near Gotham Docks. 

You wandered into the cave to see the monitor set to where Tim left it. A camera from in an old warehouse displayed all five of your boys beaten, bloodied, and tied up with the Joker pacing back and forth in front of them. 

Near the monitor keyboard was a notebook, open to a page with words scribbled in Tim’s characteristically messy writing. He found writing down thoughts helped him get his mind straight. It cleared his head. 

“Knows fighting styles - been monitoring us for weeks to memorize patterns - new moves needed - Jason good idea - Mom the last resort.” you read a loud, sinking to the chair at the monitor.

As you processed what was happening, you knew time was running short. You felt Alfred behind you, placing his hands reassuringly on your shoulders.

“What am I supposed to do?” you said, resting your head in your hands, “The GCPD won't be able to handle it well enough, and I can't just contact Clark or Diana. And I got rid of my suit years ago - it’s not like I can just slip on one of Bruce’s suits and go fight myself.” 

“I think there’s something I should show you.” Alfred said, squeezing your shoulders. 

And I feel a weight in my heart tonight

All the batsuits were displayed on one of the walls of the cave, it was like a trophy wall. And while your old Valentine suit wasn’t there, there was a display photo of you mid-flip as homage to what you’d done. 

As you went passed the suits, both old and new, and the empty cases of the suits being worn by your boys, Alfred soon stopped near your photo. He pressed the logo of your photo-suit and the glass moved away, soon followed by the wall, to reveal another glass case.

“Mister Bruce has been working on it since you destroyed your old one.” Alfred explained, letting you walk forwards to inspect your pristine suit, “He figured you might need it, and if I’m being honest I did too.”  

“Who else knows?” You asked, running your fingers over the fabric and the slightly darker logo on it’s chest. It was a lot like Bruce's suit.

“No one, but Tim found out, nothing’s a secret from him long.” you smiled. That’s Tim alright.

The fabric was new, a material you’d never seen before, but looked a lot like miniature chain-mail. Knife-proof.

The chest where your signature V logo was along with around your torso sounded a metallic tap. Bullet-proof.

You noted that although the mask only covered your eyes it was embedded with reflective glass. Photo-proof. 

“He sure was prepared.” you said, turning back to Alfred with the mask in your hands. “Will you man the computers for me?”  

“It would be an honor, Valentine.” 

Something's not right

“Copy V? Guards ahead.” Alfred said. The mask was also fit with a com-link. Bruce seemed to put everything in your suit, from an oxygen mask, to a lock-pick.

“Copy.” you said, sulking along the side of the warehouse towards the guards. You knew this could get nasty fast, but over time you learnt from Bruce many ways to subdue without killing. The guards were out of it before they even knew you were there. 

Inside, Bruce and the boys were getting antsy. 

Once when Joker left Tim said to the others he’d left a note near the computer encase he and Jason were unsuccessful, in the hope either you or Alfred would find it and send help. It had been almost two hours, and they were starting to doubt. Especially now that Joker was back and pacing in front of them. 

An explosion somewhere in another warehouse made their tired heads, and the heads of the others in the room, move towards the noise. The familiar sound of batarangs flying through the air made their head turn back right as two of the dozen guards fell to the floor, soon followed by two more. 

Joker ordered to start shooting at where the batarangs were coming from, and the solid sound of shots firing rang out for a couple long moments. When a figure clad in black dropped to the floor from the beams, Bruce felt his stomach drop. 

He knew that figure. He knew that suit. 

“Search them. Make sure whoever it is, is dead.” Joker said, dismissive in his words but the boys could tell he was on edge. Joker had the Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood and the two Robins. There wasn’t anymore, right? 

The guard moved to the figure, nudging its shoulder with his foot, and with the second nudge the figure shot up, pulling the guard into a headlock, and the guard dropped down unconscious in less than a few seconds. The other guards were trained on the figure, and Joker smiled.

“Well, well, does Batsy have a new birdy?” he sang, and the figure stepped forwards out of the shadow to reveal you, donned in your Valentine suit for all to see.

“Oh no, dear Joker,” you said, matching his tone yet lacing it with as much venom as humanly possible, “I promise you I’m far from new.” 

Cause I know that it’s day but it’s dark outside

The fact Joker wasn’t expecting a sixth ‘Batman partner’ to show up helped with taking down the guards. And like Tim noted, he was tracking everyone’s fighting styles. Even if Bruce was in the right mind-frame he had little chance of coming out on top. 

You hadn't fought in the public eye for many years, so there was no recent footage of your style, and even so most of it was back when you weren’t working with Batman at all. 

You had tied up Joker when you set to work setting the boys free, and it came as no surprise that he’d somehow gotten away by the time you’d given everyone a once-over. 

Back in the cave Damian was the first. Once back in the confides of safety Damian practically flung himself into you. 

“Ummi, I thought-” he said, stopping himself with a sniff and burying his nose in your stomach. 

“It was a close call.” Dick added, his voice strained. With a look you pulled him closer, and one by one you managed to deal out hugs and just the right words. 

In the next few hours Dick and Jason were both sent off back home with food Alfred made, and the reassurance that you’d come visit. Tim was sent off to bed, being told everything from the past events would be waiting when he wakes up. Damian was also given bed rest, but only after he got one last hug from you. 

All that was left was to deal with Bruce, who’d been in the cave since you all went upstairs. 

Like the feeling of rain on a Summer light

“Bruce.” you said, reaching his place at the computer. He stopped rather abruptly, and turned to face you with an agonizingly slow pace. The look on his face made you pull him into you just like you did with Dick. And for the first time in so long, Bruce cried. 

He could’ve lost everything on top of the baby. The other boys. You. Himself. 

He knew what he did wrong, he knew he went in without a clear head, all because something wasn’t right.

[amillionmillionvoices]

12/river arranged marriage

hey! this devolves into sap SUPER FAST. enjoy?

It’s his own damn fault. There’s a time and a place, and at his betrothal dinner, sitting next to his betrothed, was neither of them to throw what his mother is rather charitably describing as “a hissy fit” about his upcoming nuptials. 

He hadn’t meant it like that, and he’d thought River would agree—that the long standing practice was outdated and patronizing, as if neither of them were capable of wrangling their own unfortunate suitors. He’d thought she felt the same—that the farce of marriage to keep a land treaty in tact was—is—nothing short of insulting, and misguided, and downright cruel to ask two independent royals such as themselves to bind themselves to each other for the rest of their natural lives for the sake of politics. They deserve better—River, he thinks, but doesn’t say, deserves so much better than being shackled to an old prince who never could “get it together,” according to his father. Who blew past a respectable marrying age off traveling and “poking his nose where it didn’t belong” and “for what, John? You’re an embarrassment to the kingdom, honestly.” 

But he’s always been like that, and River much the same—she’s never been a typical Lord’s daughter either, meant more for ruling than John ever was, but with a fire in her that no amount of piano lessons and knitting and voluminous skirts could ever quell (he still remembers the the rumors of precisely what she’d done with that knitting needle, when her instructor had told her to start over). 

He’s known her for almost a decade now, and never in any of their conversations—or even better, their schemes, sneaking out past the palace guards to star gaze on a distant mountain, or River’s proclivity for stealing jewels from wealthy merchants and slipping them into the pockets of the poor—has she ever mentioned a desire to settle down, have children, assume a role in the castle as a stately princess. 

He’d thought she felt the same about all this—the ridiculous pomp and circumstance, inviting half the kingdom to the ball, dancing with those of strategic value and making nice with dukes and lords, ladies and wealthy widows. But when he’d glanced over at the end of his rant, expecting to see a familiar smirk, waiting for a well-timed remark that was just shy of inappropriate, he’d faltered. Instead, she’d been staring at her plate, mindlessly pushing a roast around, and it was only a moment before she cleared her throat and excused herself without even a nod of agreement. 

Seated to his left, his mother lets out a long suffering sigh. “For as bright as you are,” she says, daintily cutting a carrot in half with her knife, “you can be an absolute pillock.”

“That’s news?” he retorts, but his mother merely huffs. 

“You may think this is all for show, John, but I know you. And I’d hoped, for once in your life, you would trust us to have your best interests at heart.” 

“If you had my interests in mind at all, we wouldn’t be having this ludicrous affair.”

His mother doesn’t even look at him. “So you haven’t been in love with her since the day you met?”

John chokes. A few eyes at the table find him winded, coughing into a napkin while his mother takes a rather generous sip of her wine. 

“That’s—” he tries. “Preposterous.” 

“No,” she says evenly, “what's preposterous is your attitude. We’ve spent the better part of 20 years trying to find a match that wouldn’t make you miserable, and here you are, doing a fine job of making yourself as such.” 

John keeps his voice down as best he can. “And I suppose River’s feelings in the matter are of no consequence? As long as the King’s son is happy—”

“You really think I would doom that poor girl to a life with you if it wasn’t what she wanted?”

“How could you possibly know what she—”

His mother drops her silverware and finally looks at him—tired and irritated and more frustrated than he’s ever seen her. “We asked, John.”

He blinks. “You asked.”

“Yes.”

“You mean, you asked Amelia and Rory.”

“No, I mean we asked River if she would consent to marry you, before we ever mentioned it to you, and she said yes. We thought, knowing the way you feel for her, you would be...well, frankly, less of a prick.”

John tries not to gape.

“But now that she knows your feelings on the matter, I doubt her answer will remain the same.”

She glares at him knowingly, and there’s a brief moment he considers staying exactly where he is. Considers defying his mother, his father, his kingdom—considers letting it all hang. 

And then he thinks of River—the shadow that had crossed her face before she’d abruptly disappeared. The one and only time he’s ever seen her cry, two years ago, when she’d killed an injured fawn out of mercy, unable to save it. River, who never fails to make him laugh, who sweetens his sour smile every time; who argues with him over damn near everything and never, ever lets him be as clever as he thinks he is. River who blushed once when he tapped her nose, who stands so close to him sometimes he can smell her perfume, who always gets him out of trouble and then back into it, who looks at him so strangely, and he’s never been able to work out why. 

He thinks about it, and then, before his mother can utter another word, jerks out of his seat and nearly runs out of the great hall. She’ll have gone outside, on one of the balconies or turrets—he’ll try her favorite one first, the north tower, with the best view of the kingdom. 

He isn’t surprised to find her there, or find her alone, but the moment he lays eyes on her, he forgets how to speak. Forgets everything he wanted to say. She doesn’t acknowledge him, but he knows she knows he’s there. She always knows. 

Tentatively, he approaches the wall, stands next to her, gazing out at the dying light over the hills, so green this time of year. It’s beautiful, and boring, and he feels his throat tighten when he glances aside at her face. Her jaw is clenched, and he can tell by the set of her shoulders she’s trying to affect an air of nonchalance. To someone else, it might have worked, but he knows her. Thought he knew everything about her, and yet, missed everything. 

“River.” 

“Don’t give me that,” she says crisply, and John frowns, trying to think of what he’s done already to upset her further. 

“Give you what?”

“That pitying tone you use on bereaved widows and children with scraps.”

“It’s not a tone, it’s your name.”

“Well say it differently.”

“How would you like me to say it?” The question comes out far more genuine than he expected, and he knows River can hear it, can tell by the way her eyes widen slightly in the dim light, and her fingers flex against the railing. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says after a moment, then, “I’ll speak to my parents in the morning.”

“About what?”

She gives him a side eye, the first time she’s looked at him. “Our engagement.” She nearly spits the word. “You were right. It’s unbecoming of both of us to take part in such a farce. Besides, we’d make each other miserable.”

John swallows tightly. Perhaps his mother was wrong. “Would we?” He asks, half rhetorical, half desperate. 

River snorts, but doesn’t glance at him again. “Please. We can barely stand to be in the same room together; we’re always fighting.”

“I thought that was our flirting.”

She startles, eyes darting to him and then away as she buries a slight smirk. 

“Even if it was, that hardly makes a marriage.” She sighs, staring out over the dark fields. “Besides, you’re the King’s son—you could marry any woman you want. You should pick someone who’ll make you happy.”

You’d make me happy, he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat. “And what about you?”

She laughs, but it isn’t amused. “Oh, I don’t think I’m the marrying kind.”

“You agreed to this.”

“No I didn’t,” she says, far too quickly. 

He arches an eyebrow. “So my parents didn’t ask your consent?”

River stills, jaw tightening, her spine stiff and eyes narrowed at nothing. She doesn’t answer, and John runs a hand through his hair. 

“Why did you agree if it wasn’t what you wanted?”

“I’m a Lord’s daughter,” she says, “I’ve agreed to plenty of things I don’t want.”

She says it flippantly, a diversion, but it still hurts. “So you’d hate it, then? Being married to me?”

There’s a long silence, and he studies her face, the little bend in her nose, her kind, tired eyes, the line of her throat, the soft blush of pink to her cheek. 

“I’d hate it,” she says, and his stomach drops like a stone. “If it meant you were miserable.”

Taking a shaky breath, John inches closer. “And...if it wouldn’t make me miserable?”

She half smiles up at him. “Well, we’ll never know, will we? You’ve made your opinion on the matter abundantly clear, and I’m not so eager to please my father that I’d wed someone who would—how did you put it?—rather eat glass.”

John winces. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s fine, John. A bit of embarrassment for both our families, I’d imagine, but they’ll forget about it eventually. You’ll disappear for a year, off helping the downtrodden and come back a renewed hero, and no one will even remember this little faux pas.”

“And you?”

River shrugs. “Oh, I’ll just get in trouble.”

John licks his lips. “We could get in trouble together.”

River shakes her head. “After this I’d imagine my father will be persona non grata in the court for a while, which means we’ll be headed back home.” She sighs, leaning further over the balcony, and he he has the overwhelming urge to grab her arm, her waist; to protect her in some way. “I could do with a proper winter.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

River looks at him again, eyebrow raised. 

“I meant...we could keep the engagement.”

She laughs. Outright laughs, but there’s something forced about it, something lonely. He doesn’t join in, just stares at her, waits for her laughter to die, for the smile to slip from her lips. 

“You’re...serious.”

He shrugs. “It’s an option.”

“I thought it was a farce.”

“That, too.”

“Then why would you—”

“Because… I’m an idiot.”

River looks away. “Yes, well, that’s obvious.”

“No, River, I mean… I’m an idiot.”

She looks back at him, eyes searching his face and he wishes she could read his mind, could hear the loud tattoo of his heart in his chest, could feel the nerves running through him. He’d never thought he’d have to propose. Never thought he’d ever find anyone worth proposing to, and even then he’d assumed it would just...happen. It has just happened, but he’d ruined it, and now he has to fix it. 

“John,” she starts, and he huffs.

“Don’t give me that tone.”

“What tone?”

“The one you use when you’re trying to let a bloke down easy.”

“I never let anyone down easy.”

He smirks. “True.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you hated the whole idea of being married to me.”

He winces. “It wasn’t about you. I mean, it was, I–I thought they’d forced you into it.”

“And I didn’t realize they forced you into it.”

“They didn’t. I mean, they did, but only because—“

“Because what?”

“Because I thought you deserved better.”

River stares at him for a long moment, so long he starts to hear whispers on the wind, and then, so quiet,

“What could possibly be better than a life with you?”

He swallows. “Are you just saying that because I’m the prince?”

She glares at him. “Don’t be pompous.”

He grins, and when she reaches out to hit him in the arm, he grasps her hand, holds it to his chest. 

River inhales sharply. “John—“

“I’m rubbish at this.”

“I know.”

“Will you stay engaged to me, River?”

She tilts her head, a teasing smile. “Why should I?”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he closes his eyes and gently kisses her knuckles. 

“Because I could make you happy. I think.”

When he looks up, River’s eyes are wet, and she’s smiling so beautifully. 

“Oh, you idiot,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her free hand cupping his cheek. “You already do.”