#did you sweep up all the dust and shavings

[detaia]

*curses you with this video*

@raymusterio

@eleven-of-the-woods

[hannahbarberra162]

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart

Now on Ao3

All chapters

This is my first OP fanfic. I love the Whitebeard Pirates and I wish Whitebeard was my dad. I HC Ace does sometimes talk like Luffy but only around other WBP and / or people he feels very comfortable with. TW: reader has significant trauma, will be explained in later chapters. let me know if you like it!

Synopsis - you are an anxious bar cleaner with a practical but otherwise uninteresting Devil Fruit. You're free from your past - until today. Can your new friends help you? Or do they just want to keep you for themselves?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Letting yourself through the backdoor of the bar, you sighed heavily to yourself. The bar was more destroyed than usual - and that was saying a lot because it usually looked like a hurricane had come through and destroyed half the place. Looking at the few remaining kegs of booze on the shelves behind the bar, you could guess why. It looked like there had been quite a rager last night and it had gotten rowdy. Taking another deep breath, you went to get the broom in the cleaning closet. Waiting around wasn’t going to get the bar any cleaner. “The Brothers Bar” had gotten a reputation for being able to take whatever damage the customers decided to do, and you weren’t sure that was a good thing. 

The rays of sunshine streaming through the windows highlighted the dust in the air. You opened the unscreened windows as wide as you could to let in the refreshing, cool morning breeze. Like you did every morning, you put on your work apron and started by sweeping up what you easily could. It was a way for you to survey the damage done the night before and mentally prepare yourself for the tasks at hand. Sweeping up the broken glass, debris, dirt and was that a pineapple fruit crown? You looked about and in the corner, there was an immense pile of broken table legs and cracked table tops all in a heap. What had happened? A table throwing contest? Just one more thing for you to do. At least they were in a pile.

After you swept the small stuff into a dustpan and threw it away, you walked over to the pile of debris. It would be easier to clean the floor once all the large furniture was out of the way. Walking over, you saw something unusual - a large black boot sticking out of the pile. You carefully peered closer and it seemed the boot was attached to a leg. Sucking in a gasp, you slowly reached out to touch the leg. You had never seen anyone in the bar in the morning - the brothers always cleared out any patrons at the end of the night. Was the person dead? Would you have to deal with a dead body? You hadn’t seen anyone dead in a while and always hoped it would be a while longer. 

Your questions were quickly answered as your fingertips touched the smooth leg sticking out of the pile. The leg jerked back, and the person attached to the leg let out a huge yawn. Arms dusted in freckles rose out of the pile as a young man sat up and did a large morning stretch. Your eyes widened as he reached behind him with lingering sleepiness and reached for a black cowboy hat with some faces on it. He yawned again, put it on his head, and looked at you with a crooked smile on his handsome face. 

“G’mornin’”

You stared at the younger man. He had…slept in that pile of broken wood? He didn’t even seem confused or upset by his waking circumstances? He was starting to sit up, mildly scratching at his unclothed chest and stretching his torso. He seemed perfectly at ease and started brushing wood shavings off of his shorts. 

You backed away instinctively - anyone coming near you was enough to have you taking a few steps back just in case. A moment later, he looked at you again and smiled guiltily. You didn’t know what to say or do, so you did what came naturally: you laughed. A huge belly laugh - the kind you hadn’t made in a long time. He looked back at you surprised and flashed a genuine smile that made him seem much younger. 

Now that the young man was awake, you thought you recognized him. He was very handsome - dark black hair hanging in soft waves framing his face, soft dusting of freckles, big bright eyes looking your way. But what identified him for you was the “ASCE” tattoo along his arm and the giant Whitebeard tattoo across his entire back.

“You’re…hmm….Fire First Ace, right?”

“Yep.”

“Why are you here?”

“We’re on the island getting supplies for the Moby Dick.”

“No, I figured that. I meant, why are you in this bar right now? You should have been kicked out with everyone else last night.”

The young man shrugged his shoulders, seemingly unperturbed by the circumstance.

“I fell asleep and I guess no one saw me, so here I am.”

You didn’t really know what to say to him. He just…fell asleep? Usually the bar was raucous and you couldn’t imagine sleeping in a pile of lumber. You glanced at him sitting on the pile of rubble and he looked so….young. He was staring off into the distance not looking at anything. He looked a little lost and sad and cute and a bit like….but you didn’t have time to think about that right now. You generally were a solid judge of character and you had a pretty good feeling about Ace. Ultimately it didn’t matter since you had work to do and he didn’t seem to be interested in causing you harm for the moment. 

“Hey, get out of that pile. If you sit down at the bar I’ll make you my most amazing hangover cure.”

“Who says I’m hungover?” Ace said with a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the light.

“Just a hunch after a few hangovers of my own,” you said smiling again. “C’mere. I’ll make you a drink and then I have to get back to work. You can stay here for a few.”

Ace did one more stretch of his back and started meandering over to the bar and sat on a bar stool. “Sheesh,” he said, running his hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t remember us doing such a one over on this place. It looks like a shipwreck.”

You hummed but you were already behind the bar, grabbing the ingredients you would need. Lemon, honey, vinegar, chili peppers, seltzer, and of course, your secret ingredient. Mixing them all together, you handed the young man the beverage in a clean glass, which he accepted. You also handed him another glass of plain water.

“What is it? Looks like shit” Ace asked warily, swirling the beverage.

“Tastes like it too, but it’s the best hangover cure around. Chug it, then drink the water. Wait 5 minutes and tell me you don’t feel better.”

Ace must have decided the headache was the worse of the two, so he tipped back his glass and chugged the beverage. Afterwards, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and stuck his tongue out making a face. “Absolutely disgusting!” “Yep, now the water.” He grimaced but chugged the water as well. After he was done he handed back the glasses and was still sticking his tongue out. You chuckled lightly and started to clean them behind the bar.

You couldn’t help yourself, he reminded you so much of one of your brothers. You teased him saying “you know, if you keep that up your face will get stuck like that.”

Ace grinned and said “haven’t heard something like that in a long time. So, what’s your name anyway? Since you already know that I’m Ace.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, and thank you for the drink. I do actually feel better already.” You smiled warmly at him and moved back to the floor to start the real work of the day. 

“Do you need any help?” Ace asked, tilting his head to the side. “I can see how clearing this would take you all day. You’re…not very tall, I can’t imagine you lifting all that. Besides, you look pretty tired.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m barely below average height on my home island! And besides, nah, I’m OK. Just sit for a few more moments and let the drink work its magic.”

With that, you continued walking towards the pile of broken tables and chairs. You held out your hand, crossed your index and middle finger and touched one of the pieces of the tabletop. Quickly, the broken pieces of the table flew together and combined themselves into their former state as if nothing had ever happened. You were a devil fruit user of a very practical fruit - the Fix Fix fruit. You had the ability to fix almost anything - tables, chairs, floors, roofs, forks, clothes, anything really. You had even started pushing the boundaries of your fruit and were able to “fix” broken bones and simple lacerations. You were how the bar went from destroyed to ready for business every night. 

Once all the debris was rearranged back into furniture, you looked back at Ace sheepishly. “See? Not a big deal. I do this all the time.”

Ace of course was known for having eaten the Flame Flame fruit - an interesting and useful fruit that had helped him become a famous Whitebeard Pirate with a huge bounty. By comparison, yours felt like the Loser Loser fruit. What was fixing some broken glasses compared with creating fireballs big enough to destroy ships and save your friends?

But Ace was transfixed on your work. His eyes were wide and he looked like he was watching you walk on water. You became a little embarrassed as he said nothing, so you turned away and started fixing the other furnishings in the bar that needed attention. 

“Is..is that your power? Your devil fruit power?”

“Y..y-eah. I know it’s not as amazing as yours but I can fix almost anything and it can sometimes come in hand-”

Ace didn’t let you finish your sentence before he was on his feet waving his arms and yelling

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HELPFUL THAT WOULD BE ON THE MOBY? OR EVEN ON THE MOBY JRS? Oh my God! We wouldn’t have to fix all those pipes! The pipes! Do you know how much time we spend fixing the goddamn pipes alone?! The sails wouldn’t require days and days of downtime to repair when they rip! We could fix the doors! The stairs! Can you fix broken Log Poses?! Do you know how many I’ve accidentally set on fire?! Come to the Moby please!"

Ace was clearly excited and eager to have you join in his happiness. But the noise of his sudden outburst made you flinch and shift your weight backward away from him as if getting ready to run. Your smile dropped and you looked at him with no expression on your face. Ace noticed your discomfort after a moment and held up his hands and said “hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just thinking out loud about how amazing that fruit power would be.” He sat himself back down on the stool as if to show he wouldn’t get closer. 

You didn’t blame him, you were a jumpy person. “It’s OK, I just haven’t seen anyone so excited about fixing tables before,” you shrugged and tried to lightly laugh off the awkwardness. You didn’t want to upset him - there was no telling what could set off a pirate. Especially one as strong as Ace. You wanted to show you weren’t upset with him - and you really weren’t. You were thankful he acknowledged your discomfort and settled down. So you decided to allow him to complete Step 2 of the Complete Hangover Cure if he so desired.

“Would you like to take a shower? It can also really help with hangovers, opening the blood vessels and all that.” 

“Hmmm…not too sure about that one.”

“You…smell…not great. You slept on the floor of the bar. There was a literal pissing contest here a few nights ago. I highly suggest you go shower. Come on, I’ll let you into the place upstairs.”

Ace narrowed his eyes, seemingly trying to determine if you were trying to catch him in a trap or use him in some kind of way. You must have passed the test because he agreed and bounded behind you as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

The Brothers were letting you live above the bar for the moment. It was great because they barely charged you any rent and you didn’t need much. It had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a very small living room big enough for a comfy chair and table, which was more than you had in years. Even though they were not always expressive, you thought they did care for you in their own way.

You let Ace into the apartment and showed him where clean towels, soap, and combs were. You really had to get back to work, so you told him just to come back downstairs when he was done. You also mentioned that you had half a loaf of bread on the table and eating some would be the final step to cure his hangover.

“Aren’t you worried I’m going to rob you or look through your things?” Ace questioned as you started to walk towards the door. He was giving you a strange look, like you were trying to trick him.

“No? I don’t have anything worth stealing. I don’t have any money or valuables. I mean, I would be annoyed if you stole the book I’m reading but I can always borrow another copy.” You left Ace in your apartment and went down the stairs. You heard the water running down the pipes so you knew Ace had at least started the shower. After his shower, you’d tell him to leave and come back when the bar was open - you’d be long gone and the Brothers could deal with all this nonsense. 

You were reflecting on what a strange morning it had been, but things needed to be done. You were really behind schedule now after dealing with Ace all morning. You started cleaning again when you heard knocking on the thick wooden door at the entrance of the bar. You looked at the clock - it still wasn’t close to opening time and the Brothers all had keys to the back door - so who was it? 

With a groan, you pushed a heavy bar stool towards the door. Since the Brothers owned the bar and had never hired anyone but you, they had put the lock where it was convenient for them. Which meant it was inconvenient for you since they were all at least two and a half feet taller than you were. Again, you were almost perfectly average size on your island! It wasn’t your fault all these people were so tall. 

After pushing the stool, you stood up on it and reached to open the old lock. “Just a second!” you called out, hoping the person on the other side wouldn’t push the door in causing you to fall. You heard deep voices talking on the other side of the door and for a moment you regretted opening it at all. But you got down off the stool and moved it aside. Grabbing the iron door handle and pulling it with most of your strength, you managed to crack the door about a foot open. 

There was a group of three men looking down at you. You smiled up at them politely and said “Hi, the bar isn’t open right now. You can come back again later when we are” and tried to shut the door.

One of the men, who had a funny hairstyle not unlike a pineapple, smiled back at you with half closed eyes and put his hand casually on the door, keeping it open. He said

 “We’re actually just looking for our brother-yoi. We couldn't find him and this was the last place we saw him.”

You weren’t sure what to do - you were almost positive they were on the same crew, but what if they weren’t? What if they wanted to hurt Ace? Wait, why did you care? Ace could handle himself. Taking the safest route, you asked “Who are you looking for?”

“Fire Fist Ace. He’s pretty short, black hair, freckles, charming, sleeps a lot.” The man, who you thought might be Marcott? Marcus? Something like that, you think you might’ve seen his picture a long time ago, held up Ace’s wanted poster to show a picture of him. 

“...um…” you were trying to stall for time to decide what to do. On one hand, you didn’t want anything bad to happen to Ace if they were bounty hunters or had a vendetta against him. On the other, you didn’t want to upset this new group of people you didn’t know. This is why you were the morning bar cleaner! You didn’t like to deal with conflict or these kind of issues. Why couldn’t one of the Brothers be here this morning? 

“Well, I’m the only person in the bar right now. I just clean here.” You decided to not exactly lie, but to obfuscate the truth just a little. It was true that you were the only person there - because you let Ace go upstairs to shower.

“Do you mind if we look around? We are getting worried about him - he can sleep in the strangest places.” The man wasn’t threatening you and he did seem genuinely concerned about Ace but you felt vulnerable and uncomfortable. You couldn’t think of a way to diffuse the situation easily so you just gave in. Maybe they would leave quickly?

“Sure, come on in,” you said as you pushed the door further open. The three men, politely waited until you moved out of the way and then followed you into the bar. All you had to do was hold out another 15 minutes and at least one Brother would probably be there to help you. The men were walking around the bar, looking a little puzzled.

“I thought Jozu accidentally smashed this table last night?” a man with a long mustache and black top hat said quietly to his companions. 

“Yeah, and Haruta definitely broke at least one chair.”

“They say this bar is magic and can fix anything inside it.” said a man wearing white with a yellow sash and a pompadour hairstyle with a grin.

“I’m not too sure about that,” said Pineapple Man while looking at you. You didn’t like him looking at you so you pretended to be giving all your attention to your cleaning. But when you heard the water in the pipes turn off, you glanced up out of habit. 

Pineapple Man followed your glance up and said with a small smile “Someone up there yoi?”

You swallowed harshly and felt a stiff pressure settle at the base of your neck. You were feeling unsettled and anxious. You just wanted everyone gone - and soon. Ace, these  men, everyone needed to be out of your comfort zone. There were too many people asking you too many questions.

“It’s not really any of your business. W-who are you guys anyway?” you settled on saying.

“We’re Whitebeard Commanders, I’m Marco. This is Thatch,” he said pointing to the man in white who smiled and waved, “and this is Vista,” jerking his thumb at the large gentleman who took off his top hat with a flourish. “We’re looking for Ace - he’s a Commander like us. Here, let me show you.” Marco then opened his shirt and showed a large tattoo that matched Ace’s, but Marco’s was on his chest. Your face flushed but you weren’t sure why. You’d seen many men shirtless before, but this felt weird. You were too out of sorts for people to be taking their clothes off.

Before you could respond, you could hear Ace hurtling himself down the stairs. Cringing at being caught not telling the truth, you went to go meet him at the door to the bar. Before he could enter the bar, you quietly said “Ace” so the others wouldn’t hear you “there are three men here looking for you.”

“Hmm? Who?” Ace replied, unconcerned. He was still shaking the water out of his hair, kind of like a wet dog.

“Do you know them? They said their names are Marco, Thatch and Vista.” 

Ace’s face lit up in a smile and said “oh yeah! My brothers! Wait till they meet you Y/N!”

His sudden shift in mood made you feel safer, but he also grabbed you by the forearm and brought you towards his brothers in the bar. You tried to recoil your arm but he held on tight. You were being pulled back towards the men - somewhat unwillingly. 

“Acey- boy!” Thatch exclaimed when he saw the young Commander. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your monthly shower?” he teased, eyeing Ace’s still wet hair.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. Ace started talking like an excited child about everything that happened thus far. It was a far cry from the cool and collected man of a few minutes ago.

“Y/N let me shower upstairs after I woke up here! I woke up in a pile of wood but she just laughed and wasn't mad at all. She was so nice, she made me this terrible drink that helped and I ate all the food in her apartment - literally, why don’t you have more food? Do you need more? All you had was that bread and I ate it. I feel kinda bad about that but now I feel great after you helped me fix my headache. And just wait until you see her Devil fruit powers! They could really help she can fix anything she fixed this shithole from everything we did last night in like two seconds….”

The longer Ace babbled the more anxious you were becoming. You started shifting your weight on your feet and trying to gently free your arm from Ace’s grasp again. You didn’t like being the center of conversation, you didn’t like strange men near you, and you most certainly didn’t like people discussing your fruit power like you weren’t even there. You wanted to run away and hide until they all left. You did eventually free your arm and you started to back away little by little from the group of men. You knew Marco saw you since he gave you an assessing look while saying “is that so?” and “interesting” at points in Ace’s story.

You heard the back door to the bar open and you breathed a sigh of relief. That had to be one of the Brothers coming in for the day. You still hadn’t finished everything but you just wanted to get away and come back when it was empty again. Oldest Brother came in, went behind the bar, filled a shot glass, tossed it back and grunted at you. He didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, and didn’t wish you a good morning. You hadn’t seen him for a few days since he had the weekend off. You felt better as things were going back to how they usually were. After his drink, he looked up to see the Whitebeard Commanders in the bar. He lifted the corners of his mouth until they weren’t locked into a frown and said “Vista. Long time no see, Brother.” 

Your day was not going to be getting any less weird it seemed.

[r-f-m-writes]

Pretty, Dead Animals Chapter Two

The backs of Linette’s thighs stuck flush to the linoleum floor of her apartment as she twisted left and right, razor in hand, carefully shaving away a week worth of hair on her legs and arms.

Her aircon was still broken, its absence magnifying the stifling heat that rose slow and smothering through the space. No amount of persistent hinting would compel Mrs. Weller to have it mended.

Linette knew it was negligence on her landlord’s part, that she would be within her rights to lodge a formal complaint, make threats of breaking lease - but she wouldn’t.

Linette didn’t like making a nuisance of herself. She knew full well that she couldn’t afford rent anywhere else in town, and she didn’t have anyone to stay with if Mrs. Weller gave her the boot for being a pest over broken appliances.

Working up a lather on her skin with cheap moisturizing body wash, the girl sighed through her nose.

The weekend was running long, the sun seeming to drag its feet as it crawled slow and cumbersome through the bright blue, cloudless sky.

Rinsing her razor off in the bowl of soapy water, Linette started on the backs of her knees while she glanced around the apartment, thinking of what else there was to do.

The floors were spotless from her sweeping and mopping them yesterday. The kitchenette was tidy as could be. All her clothes were washed, folded and put away - not as much of a feat as it seemed when Lin liked to keep her wardrobe small. The only thing she hadn’t done was make her bed.

Passing a wet washcloth over her legs, Linette wrung it out over the second, smaller bowl of dirty water before hanging it on the handle of the stove, knowing it would dry out in minutes flat thanks to the heat.

Pumping the last of her unscented moisturizer into her palm, Linette layered the soothing balm over her legs quickly before she stood.

A slow, hot wind pushed through her apartment window, making cream checkered curtains billow inward and fluster around Linette as she stepped forward, feeling the soft touch of the heady breeze dust over her skin, cooling and warming all at the same time.

Outside stretched miles and miles and miles of red sand. Shrubs scattered over the scorched earth like round green dice thrown by the hand of a giant. Far away, almost further than Lin could see, there were trees. Tall, swaying, hardy. No lakes stretched far enough inland to supply the flora with water, so their salvation came as rain.

She could feel the promise of a downpour in the air. It sat heavy on the roof of her mouth, soothing and clean on the wind. There would be a cool change before the world was bathed. Linette would leave her windows open, let the glory of the storm roll through her apartment until the air held a pleasant snap of its chill and all her pillows smelled of rain.

Pushing away from where she had been leaned against the painted sill, she folded back the dressing screen that stood like a makeshift wall between her bed and the rest of the apartment, careful not to scratch the floor as she moved the wooden legs. Linette was getting her security deposit back if it was the last thing she did.

A disarray of pillows and sheets kicked around on top of her mattress greeted her with the screen pushed back.

Bun Bun lay on the ground looking up at her soulfully with his scratched glass eyes.

Linette’s stomach dropped. She swept him into her arms in a second, hugging him against her in apology as her throat went tight.

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you fell.”

It was stupid. Embarrassin. Her attachment to the stuffed toy as an adult, as someone who should have grown up and then grown out of ‘childish’ things, but she couldn’t help it.

Bun Bun was all she had that was really hers as a child. Hers to keep. Hers to love. Hers to depend on as she was pedaled from one group home to the next, passed on like a burden no one wanted.

He wasn’t even given to her by her real parents. Some of the other kids had things like that. Baby blankets. Quilts made for them by mothers who were too young or too deststue to shoulder the responsibility. Little, hopeless gifts given in lue of real love, real apologies, real accountability.

Linette was abandoned with nothing.

Bun Bun was given to her by Mrs. Lee, the nicest foster mother she ever loved and lost. Her house had been big and clean and safe. There was always food in the fridge, and Lin was always allowed to eat when she was hungry. Mrs. Lee gave her hugs and didn’t punish her for anything, ever.

Linette didn’t realize she was crying until her tears began to wet the top of Bun Bun’s head, his floppy brown ears draped over her wrists as she held him up to her face, chest constricted and empty and horrible.

Wind picked up at her back. Curtains whipped, clicking on their rod.

The smell of rain rolled over her with a familiarity that was as soothing and unconditional as one of Mrs. Lee’s hugs.

[hauntedmoon519]

bladed blossoms

razors edge rift

apply shaving cream

let it froth and foam

as blood stains my

face red with anguished

regrets

slowly scrape downwards

with the feathered blade

stems so close to the curtain call

let it drain through

did you know leaving

me alone with thorned roses would

make a weapon wield a weapon

with only one walking out

shave and become clean

slash away the old the useless

with rusted roots and let the juice

dye my hands

smooth, smoother than

liquid glass flavoured aftershave

i speak and rasp chokes out

erupts granite breath

strangled songbird

cracking and coughing

a picture perfect porcelain petunia

smoking drifting

remember to scarf down the

pills like a stray dog lapping at

bones and scraps

desperation sinks heavily

tastes tepid and sickly sweet

iced coffee cigarettes

sultry and addictive

the placebos pollen,

breathe it in let it

break you

the bouquet of barbs

do you adore the high

the lights n glitz

the cheers and smiles

the cries of joy and applause

does it make you happier

smiling and laughing adrift

farther and further away

from me

i drown myself

i crop it all

brush the dust off the

ground and

sweep the rust from my lungs

i bite my tongue

lick lips,

taste blood

scratch and abrading against

manacles so heavy so laden

the garden of the hesperides

collapse under the

skys crash

strain and scratch and scrape

rasp and scrape and rinse

and shave and scrape and

over and again and over

i carry angrbodas bloom

condemned to plant and

nuture it with my corpse

eihwaz

strident and

inharmonious

i clean up

wipe it all away

lick lips, taste blood

a razor edged bouquet

[thedummysdummy]

Just a Saturday Chore Day

~~

Posting from mobile because I'm too lazy to pull out the computer right now. I'll title this properly tomorrow LOL. But I hope you enjoy!

~~

It was a lovely Saturday morning. Sunlight streamed through the windows and highlighted the dust that floated through the air, the motes dancing like glowing glitter in the natural air currents of the large room. Spring bird song made a fitting accompaniment to the dancing dust and a fresh soundtrack to the day.

Victor rolled over and opened his eyes, feeling quite rested. It wasn't often he allowed himself to indulge in a morning of sleeping in. He noted the clock read 9am as he stretched a long stretch, his slender form extending to its limit from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes. A wide yawn filled his lungs with cool morning air.

An abundantly filled laundry basket met his gaze as Victor disrobed for a shower and dropped his dirty things on top of the pile. "Guess it's laundry day," he murmured, running his fingers through his extra messy hair, which seemed intent on escaping his scalp in every direction at once. The girl often made fun of his morning hair, but no matter how he fell asleep he always managed to wake up with his head burrowed into the pillow. Thoughts of those mornings he woke up with the girl by his side brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his heart that followed him into the steaming shower waters.

A cheerful (if lacking in harmoniousness) tune filled the shower, echoing on the marble walls like a fine performance hall. Victor stood for a long time, just enjoying the cascade of hot water falling on his head and rolling down his chiseled shoulders. He eventually noted the grime on the shower door and soap that had built up with a slight frown as he rinsed the shampoo away. "Hmmm. Bathroom scrubbing day as well, I see."

The water began to cool, so with a sigh he turned off the tap and quickly toweled off. A quick shave of any facial hair, a comb through his now-soft crown of hair, and a thorough tooth-brushing finished up the grooming and Victor returned to the bedroom. It seemed a waste to dirty too many clothes on laundry day, so he slid into a pair of boxer briefs and socks before deeming that sufficient. Nobody was coming over today, anyway.

A kitchen filled with the dishes of last night's experimental recipes reminded Victor that he had, in fact, been drunk-cooking last night. "I had really hoped that curry had just been a horrible nightmare," he grumbled. However, the pot still sat in the sink with the remains of said nightmare. As did the empty bottle of bourbon… It had been a lonely night, alright?

But the sunshine of a clear blue morning chased away the loneliness. "That's it. It's an entire-house cleaning day, it seems. This calls for some music." Victor ambled over to the record player with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand to peruse his collection. He paused on a collection of Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet band, nodding once before placing the vinyl on the player and lowering the needle.

The crackle and pop of a record beginning filled the air for a brief moment before the first rock notes burst forth from the speaker. A broad grin filled Victor's face and he returned to the kitchen to get the broom. The bristles against the floor scraped in time to the music as the beat slipped from Victor's ears down to his feet. His legs and hips joined in as the songs progressed, both hands gripped the bedroom handle, and before he even realized what he was doing, the cheerful businessman was belting out the lyrics just as bold as you please.

"Just take those old records off the shelf, I sit and listen to them by myself! Today's music ain't got the same soul, I like that old time rock and roll!" Victor's off-key but happy voice filled the room as he held the broom to his lips like a microphone. Around the room he danced, singing and sweeping and giving the performance his all.

As the song reached its crescendo, Victor was 115% engrossed. His voice reached its loudest pitch and he took a running start across the room, stopping short to slide across the floor in his stocking feet. He came to rest at the record player and paused for a moment, catching his breath after that stirring performance. He was about to choose another record when a sound caught him off guard.

It was the sound of laughter. And not just any laughter…it was the most familiar laughter. Her laughter. Victor whipped around, his face and ears catching fire as he did so. "What are you doing here?! And how long have you been there?!" he sputtered, half his brain screaming at him to dive for cover while the other half desperately searched for a way to play this off in a cool fashion.

The girl laughed even harder as Victor continued to have more and more in common with a tomato. "Oh, about two verses or so," she managed to squeak through the chiming bells of her mirth. "You were really enjoying yourself so I didn't want to interrupt. But uhh… Surprise! I'm back from my trip!" She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Victor's bare torso, the warmth from his physical exertion and utter embarrassment soaking quickly into her skin. "Glad to see you weren't just moping the entire time I was gone."

Victor… Seemed to actually be speechless. He stood awkwardly stiffly for a moment before consciously deciding to act as if this were all completely normal and fine. The girl didn't seem at all phased or embarrassed by his activities or lack of dress, so… He inwardly shrugged and returned the tightness of her hug. "Of course not, dummy. What do you expect me to do when you're gone? Just mope about the house moaning about how much I miss you?"

"I mean...a little bit of that might be nice, yes," she replied, a glimmer in her eye. Her hands slid down to the small of his back and pulled him closer, placing a kiss on his cheek. His breath quickened and desire flickered in his eyes. Their closeness was intoxicating and he drank it in, allowing it to fill his soul.

"You're such a tease," he grumbled, trying not to pant too obviously. "But I thought you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow? If I'd known you were coming today, I would have finished the chores yesterday."

Her laughter for his ears and she pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Well, the filming ended early and I thought it would be fun to surprise you. I didn't think it would be this fun though." A fiendish grin slowly spread across her face and she ran her finger tip gently down the center of Victor's chest. Victor swallowed hard, teetering on the edge of a decision when the girl pulled away and picked up the broom. "I'll help you clean up! You've helped clean my apartment before, so it's only fair. Besides, I'm sure some of the things that need cleaned are my mess anyway."

Victor scowled as her warmth suddenly disappeared. "Well, you're right about that one. Between you and Pudding, it's amazing anything is ever clean around here. Why don't you start on the dishes while I go get dressed, if you're insisting on helping?"

"Sure, but… I am rather enjoying your current outfit." The girl's voice and face were so dead-pan that Victor couldn't help but begin to laugh.

"Well aren't you getting more and more bold?" he teased, wrapping his long arms around the girl and pressing his lips to hers with ferocity. She was caught off guard by his sudden motion and her eyes widened as Victor bit her lip, his heat suddenly threatening to overwhelm her. He pushed her up against the wall and continued to kiss her again and again, his body pressed so tightly against her chest that she could hardly draw a breath. Or maybe it was the intensity of his kissing that stole the breath from her lungs… Or both. Most likely both.

Not that she minded. Her hands scrambled for purchase against his skin, eventually settling for gripping the waistband of his underwear tightly. "Last night I might have moped a little," he whispered, the electricity in his voice sending a chill down her spine.

By the time he pulled away, the girl was so lightheaded and weak in the knees that Victor had to support her for a few moments while her legs regained contact with her brain. Without a word he picked up the broom and resumed sweeping as if nothing had happened, though his well-defined muscles seemed to flex a little more than was required to move a broom…the girl's eyes remained glued to his familiar form, drinking in every last detail that she had missed over the last week abroad.

"I know staring at me seems to be your favorite pastime lately, but those dishes won't wash themselves." Victor's dry tone couldn't quite hide the flirtiness beneath and again the girl giggled, though this time it was her turn for flushed cheeks and burning ears. He tossed her a dish rag and the girl went to the sink, a smile in every crevice of her features.

Well, at least chores certainly are a little more fun with good company and a nice view.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Point of No Return - Part Thirteen

A/N: Hi friends. I hope you are having a lovely night. I am over here having a VERY emotional one, because this here is the LAST part of this series (even though there WILL be an epilogue) and... I am feeling a lot of things about it. If you have been following me for a while- or even if you’re new here- you have likely noticed that I have a slight issue with finishing a story or series in a timely fashion. The number of ongoing WiPs on my masterlist FAR outweighs the number of completed works, but today that number increases by one. The fact that this has been one of my absolute favorite stories to work on in all of my years writing only makes my heart even more soft at this moment, and I want to take this time to sincerely thank everyone who has taken part in this journey with me- especially @something-tofightfor​ who has talked me off of several ledges throughout the writing of this story. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement, I flippin’ love you!!

Warning: discussion of injury, illness, mention of character death, and hell, a little bit of zest ;) 

Summary: The Harvest season has come to a close, another year’s worth of work over... but the close of one season always ushers in the start of another.  

Word Count: 6.5k

It wasn’t quite morning yet.

The Harvest Star slept in towards the end of the season, rising nearly an hour later than it did at the onset. When it finally blinked and stretched its rays over the horizon, the light it brought with it was lazy and slow to kindle into flame. Instead of the vibrant orange glow that woke the world only a few weeks prior, a gentle yellow light filled the air, whispering to all those who toiled under its heat in the fields, “you can rest now, you’ve earned it.”  

No one had earned it more than Clara. 

Ezra watched silently as the morning reached through the window panes to sweep across her still sleeping face. She had fallen asleep on her side facing him, one arm bent beneath her pillow and the other extended in the space between their bodies. As night came to collect the two of them, he had felt her fingers trailing over the veins in his left arm, over his palm, the movement slowing until it stalled completely and her hand curled close to his atop the sheets. Now, the gentle gold starshine fell over her closed eyelids to make them flutter, the individual strands of her lashes picking up the light as they fought to stay shut. Ezra had to fight, too, to resist the urge to trace the soft fringe where it lay against her skin, to find the freckles that dusted her shoulder and connect them with the tip of his index finger, run his thumb over the soft skin of her lips before pressing his own against them. 

Let her sleep. Time for all of that later. 

There was time for all of that and so much more, now. At that thought, a slow smile stretched across his face to pull his cheeks wide. Bringing his hand to his chin, in part to keep himself from waking Clara, Ezra slid his fingers over the short, patchy stubble that currently covered his jaw and the sides of his face. The pad of his pinky fit perfectly into the divot left behind from his clumsy attempt at taking care of his own grooming the previous night. It wasn’t deep enough to leave a permanent scar, but for now there was a visible mark. Still, it's an improvement.  He hadn’t shaved since just before he set out for his last trip up to the Green, his beard already starting to become unruly and overgrown by the time he met Cee, and that had been almost three standard Kamrean weeks ago now. The last two of those weeks had been spent there on the farm, and aside from the three blissful days that had turned out to be nothing but fool’s gold, his infection returning and requiring another round of aggressive medications, he had only been safely out of the woods for the last day and a half. His physical appearance had been the furthest thing from his or anyone’s mind while he fought to survive, to stay with Clara and be there for Cee. 

But since the doctor that Clara had spoken with had said that if he made it through the second course of prescribed antibiotics without the fever returning he was in the clear, Ezra had made a decision. In addition to the adjustments that they all were making following his return and Cee’s arrival, he decided that he had to start adjusting to the other aspects of his second chance at life, too. Namely, life without his dominant arm. While his lungs would recover fully albeit slowly over time, there was no restoring an amputated limb. Though the incisions and sutures were already sealed with new skin growth, the wound was still too fresh and new. The bones and muscles in the remainder of his right bicep were still too internally swollen and traumatized for him to be fitted with a prosthetic or to even see a specialist to determine if he was a candidate. 

Don’t go weighing your harvest before you’ve finished in the fields, right? 

He knew that there was a possibility that he wouldn’t be a candidate to receive a new arm; that the type of injury he had sustained, the amount of disease that had plagued his marrow and tendons could disqualify him from going through that process. That assessment was still months away though; after the rains came and went, after the winter chill fell and lifted, after Siggi and Runa’s upcoming wedding. He didn’t want to give himself false hope about what his life would look like going forward only to be disappointed when that false hope crashed. He knew that there were tasks that he needed to start retraining himself to do left-handed that he would normally use his right or both hands for. Using the restroom and taking a shower had been ungainly at first, but he was able to get by. Eating, so long as he didn’t try to use a knife or a spoon, was also a graceless yet manageable task. Anything that could break or spill if he fumbled it he avoided or asked Cee or Clara for help with, because he didn’t want to create an even more inconvenient situation by making a mess- not after he’d dropped an entire canister of tea powder trying to brew a cup for Clara and ended up throwing the brew basket into the kitchen sink in frustration. He hadn’t tried to do anything as ambitious as write with a pen or tie a shoelace yet, nothing that required real finesse or control. But with the Harvest Dinner coming up- his first in five excruciatingly long years- he wanted to look presentable. 

As much as is possible for a man in my position, that is. 

And to him, that meant attempting a shave. Ezra had always preferred the close cut he got with a traditional straight edge razor over the less than satisfactory shave he gave himself when he used multi-bladed tools. When he opened the mirrored cabinet in the bathroom of his and Clara’s room to see that she had kept his silver razor, right there in its case, clean and sharp and ready for him, he took it as a sign that he should try to use it. Clara and Cee were downstairs in the kitchen, finishing up with some dishes before turning in, so he took that as a sign, too, that this was one of the tasks that he may as well attempt on his own.

The left side was easy. There was nothing to relearn or change about his technique there; straight edge razors are meant to be used with the same side hand as the cheek you’re shaving, so aside from the ever present silver arch that cut through his left cheek, the shave was smooth and experienced. He’d even done a relatively clean job of foaming up the right side of his face and throat with the brush. But when he brought his left hand across his body to bring the blade up to his cheek, it was clear that it wouldn’t be simple. The first swipe of the razor took off only a layer of white foam, his angle not quite right, so he turned his chin further, trying to correct course for the next attempt. He could feel his grip start to slip, the awkward position of his hand and arm protesting the strange motion, but he tightened his hold on the handle and brought the razor back up anyway. 

The shake in his fingers caused the blade to slip even more,  and he hissed as it nicked the skin over his jaw. “Fuck,” he bit out, upper lip snared as he turned his cheek to get a better look at the damage. Along with a strip of wiry dark facial hair, he’d removed a small chunk of flesh. Ah, shit. Beads of bright crimson rushed to the raw surface, bleeding red swirls into the white shaving foam that covered the rest of his jaw and throat. Frustration and anger erupted all at once and he threw the razor down into the sink, the heavy metal tool clattering against the porcelain basin dramatically. Letting out a grunt that was close to a growl, he slammed his hand on the counter, sending the canister of shaving cream tumbling to the ground. “Useless fuckin Kevva-damned piece of sh-“

“Hey.”

Clara’s voice came from the doorway behind him, patient and soft, and the tension in his shoulders vanished as he dropped them, letting out a sigh. From anyone else he would mistake her tone of voice as pity, only serving to enrage him further. But not from her. Snapping his eyes up to the glass in front of him, he met her steady gaze in the reflection. Oh, Huckleberry, what did I do to deserve you? 

“Clara…” he croaked out her name, turning as she stooped down to pick up the orange striped can, replacing the lid as she stood. “ I didn’t hear you come up. I’m sorry, I did not mean to cause you any-“ 

“I know, Ezra.” She didn’t let him finish, setting the can on the counter as he leaned back against it. Reaching past him without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the towel that he’d been using and brought it gently to the cut on the right side of his jawline to clean the blood. She pressed lightly with one finger wrapped in the blue fabric against the shallow divot, tilting her head as he raised his hand to encircle her wrist. “Why didn’t you ask me for help, hmm?” 

He swallowed, closing his eyes while she swiped the towel over his skin finally staunching the flow. “Because I need to,” he inhaled as she let the cloth fall into the basin of the sink with a damp plop, letting the breath out and opening his eyes. “I cannot rely on you or Cee or others for everything. I need to be able to do things for myself.” He scoffed then, casting his eyes downward, feeling how they were darkening and not wanting to shed that on her. “I need to get used to…to this.” He nodded at his right arm, lifting the stump an inch or two away from his side to emphasize its abrupt end. 

Clara placed one hand at his waist, the other sliding along the already trimmed and shaved plane of his left cheek, tenderly turning his attention back to her eyes. “Not all at once you don’t.” She swept her thumb over the rounded top of the arched scar, then elevated on tiptoe to kiss the same place. “And in the meantime, I’d rather not have you carve this face up, Ezra.” She kissed him again. “I happen to like it as is.” 

“I am not the capable man that you once knew, Huckleberry.” He shook his head, eyes still locked on hers. “There’s...I am less now.” It felt pitiful to say, pathetic to admit, but a part of him was stuck on the worry that he was no longer enough for a woman like her, no longer enough to be satisfied with his own level of independence. He knew that Clara would never see him that way, that she would never use his situation against him or see him as anything but the man she’d let into her heart, the man that she loved. 

But I want to be… I want to be more for you, Clara. More than this. 

Her answer unstuck that thought all at once. “You listen to me right now, Ezra.” She swallowed before bringing both of her hands to his shoulders, palms pressed to the seams in the sleeves of the shirt he wore, and he felt the weight of her words before she even spoke them. “You are not less. You never were.” Her head jerked from side to side in a quick motion of dismissal, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what she was saying had more than one meaning. 

Seth wasn’t your fault. 

That was the subtext to her words as she moved her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, lacing her fingers there. “We’re going to get through this the way we should have in the first place.” He saw the flash of emotion in her eyes, the threat of tears that she pushed aside. He could see the strength of conviction that she felt as she finished. “Together.” She took a deep breath then, leaning into his chest and laying her right cheek against his left, skin to skin so that her next words could travel directly from her lips to his ear. “You will always be everything to me, Ezra. You will never be less.” 

It was a moment that Ezra knew he would not forget as long as he lived. “You are the only woman in all of Kevva’s creation that I will ever love, Clara,” he responded, wrapping his arm around her back to hold her close. “And I will never stop.”  

He felt the weight in his chest lighten as she ran her fingernails through the hair at the base of his skull. Her soft lips pressed to his cheek once more before she straightened up and pulled back to look at him, and despite the intensity of his feelings for her and the gravity of the things they had just said, he felt a genuine chuckle slip out. Oh, my Huckleberry. Before she could question his reaction, Ezra brought his hand up to her face, pointer finger extended to swipe a dollop of white foam from the tip of her nose. “You had...” he smirked, knowing full well that he looked just as ridiculous with half of his face shaved, the other half still covered in foam as she had looked with it smeared on the tip of her nose. 

Her laughter caused her to fall into him again, her warm breath hitting his skin and making him wonder how he ever let something as trivial as a razor work him up. Straightening back up, she finished uncovering the right side of his face. Her hazel eyes focused on what her fingers were doing, one hand tilting his chin to the correct angle, the other skillfully working to match his right cheek to his left, to clean up the rogue patches of hair that wandered down his throat before she trimmed the mustache she never saw him without. He didn’t know how it was possible, but Ezra felt himself fall more in love with her as she worked. When she was done, once she helped him make sure that all of the excess foam and all of the stray hairs were wiped clean, Ezra kissed her more deeply than he had dared to since he had been home. 

He rested his large palm over the side of her face as his tongue slid into her mouth, coaxing hers to meet it as he tilted his head. The new angle pulled a sudden sigh from her lungs, as though reminding the both of them what he was still capable of. The sound escaped their sealed lips and he groaned in response to the scrape of her teeth along the fleshy inside of his bottom one, her teasing bite a sensation that he had craved like a starving man during the years that they spent apart and one that he would never take for granted again. Nothing. Not the flip in his heart when she sighed or the feel of her fingers making fists in his curls. Not the burning need to take a breath or the desperate desire to dedicate all of himself to every inch of her. Not a single moment. Never again, my Clara. 

They had gone to bed then, continuing the kiss until it devolved into something sloppy and sleepy, dragging the tips of their noses over each other’s skin before pressing their lips and tongues to pulse points, tasting the way that they were speeding up one another’s heartbeats. They let their fingertips and the backs of their knuckles, their palms and the pads of their thumbs find swaths of skin across their necks and backs and abdomens, searching for scars they hadn’t seen before, stretch marks, new clusters of freckles. Though they burned to give each other more, to finally reunite the way that both of their bodies thrummed and vibrated with want to, Ezra felt the way that her touch started to slow, couldn’t fight the way that his own energy was waning. Before he could apologize for not being able to show her just how ardently he loved her, how bottomless his passion for her was, he heard her whisper dreamily into his ear. 

“Time for that later, Ezra.” She yawned in the darkness, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against the freshly shaved ridge of his jawline. “So much time now.”

With that she turned her head to lay one more soft kiss to his lips, one that he returned with tenderness, and then she dropped her head to her pillow, letting her fingers follow the length of his arm into the cup of his palm until both of them had fallen asleep. 

Now, on the last morning of the harvest, while the last vestiges of the season’s bright peachy light finally overtook the lazy yellow glow, Ezra watched as she slowly blinked her eyes open. He listened for that change in her breathing, for the moment when she sighed herself awake with a delicate whimper, and as soon as he heard it, he reached for her chin, thumb and the crook of his index finger gently pulling it towards him, only pausing when her lips were close enough to brush his. “Rise and shine, Clara.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, dropping his tone an octave and closing the nearly negligible space between their lips so that his meaning could not be misunderstood. “It’s later, Huckleberry.”         

—  —  —  —  —  —

Cee had been busy. 

The brew basket for the tea machine needed tweaking so that it could be opened and filled single-handedly. There was only one handrail going down the stairs and it was on the wrong side. There were a number of small adjustments to be made around the house to help Ezra regain his independence, and she had taken note of the things that she could see to herself. So many maintenance based or reparative tasks had been designated as hers for so long that Cee knew her way around a tool kit. She had taught herself how to wire small electronics and appliances, how to take things apart and make changes to springs and latches, and so with Clara’s permission she had begun to retrofit certain things like drawer pulls and door handles. 

“Is this your skilled handiwork, birdie?” Ezra had asked the first time he came back downstairs, not needing help because he’d been able to properly brace himself on the banister that she’d added to the other side of the stairs. 

“Took it from the basement,” she answered with a shrug. “Clara said no one goes down there so…” 

“Well the installation is top of the line, very secure.” He gave her a lopsided grin before narrowing his dark eyes and tilting his head. “Thank you, Cee.” 

Those last three words had made all the worry and fear worth it. They facilitated her understanding of what family was- a group of people who tried to make things better for one another by caring. 

Following the temporary return of Ezra’s fever, Cee had searched for any distraction she could find that would occupy her mind, giving it something, anything, to do but worry. Runa and Sig had stayed with her for most of the first day of Ezra’s short backslide, the friendly-faced young man doing his best to keep her spirits up, telling her about the upcoming Harvest Dinner and how it was one of the best nights of the year. She knew that he was trying to stay positive, trying to give her something to look forward to in describing the event, but just the thought of celebration while Ezra’s fate was in flux again felt wrong, like a heavy weight in her stomach. 

How can we just… but what if he doesn’t…and Clara, how can they expect her to still have a damn party when this is what’s… 

It was Runa who had finally been able to start soothing the fear that was again pulsing through Cee’s blood with every beat of her heart. She had tasked Siggi with brewing some tea for the three of them, tossing him a wink before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, at the place where his smile started to pull at his cheeks. He nudged the tip of his nose against hers and nodded, heading directly for the cabinet where Clara kept the tea canister. 

I don’t want tea. I want-

“Let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” Runa stood from the small kitchen table where she had been sitting next to Cee, the girl looking up in time to see the woman’s braided hair and beaded earrings sway as she cocked her head towards the screen door. 

Cee threw a nervous glance over her shoulder towards the staircase, the halo of light from the upstairs hallway illuminating the wooden stairs. There was no sign of Clara, no creak in the floorboards to signal movement upstairs, and Abe was still curled in an orange ball at the bottom, waiting like the rest of them. Her bottom lip twitched into a thin line as she turned back to nod. “Okay…” she rose to her feet, one hand gesturing behind herself. “But, just...if-” 

“When Clara comes down we’ll go right back inside.” She smiled, but something in it felt warm and unforced, genuine and trustworthy. Because she’s not trying to pretend that...that everything is okay. “I promise.”  

Cee had followed her out onto the porch then, the woman taking a seat on the steps instead of the bench. The daylight was starting to fade as the star sunk low, half of the fiery peach-pink sphere vanishing behind the treeline. There were still clouds of pollen swirling above the Thulian fields though, meaning that the rest of the farmhands were still out working, even without Clara and Siggi. Life on the farm never stopped, no matter what else was happening, especially as the season came to a close. She silently sat next to Runa, letting out a sigh and leaning her elbows on her knees. 

“You know, I get it.” Runa turned towards her, her slender arms crossed over her own knees. “I understand how… scared you feel.” 

Cee shook her head.  “I…” I doubt it. Cee felt her forehead furrow in confusion at her own thoughts. Runa had been nothing but honest and forthcoming with her, welcoming and warm, giving her no reason at all to doubt her. It was the same sabotage her instincts had tried to pull regarding Clara and Ezra, and she realized it was because she had been taught to trust no one. I didn’t even trust Damon. But the realization came with a second layer- she wanted to trust people. Licking her lips to sweep a stray tear from them, she swallowed and sniffed. “How?” Wiping at her eyes without taking them off of the fields, she felt her right knee start to bounce. “I mean… how can you understand?” 

Runa sighed, her eyes raking over Cee’s face. “You know Sig and I are getting married soon, right?” Still unsure of where this was going, Cee nodded. “Well, the man who is going to walk me to the altar in a few weeks’ time? He’s not my,” she rolled her eyes and gestured flippantly with one hand. “I was adopted. My real parents?” She scoffed. “That word… it only means what you let it, Cee.” Runa reached over to brush her fingers through the ends of Cee’s ponytail. Her light touch was soft and comforting and it made Cee feel more guilty about her initial reaction of distrust. “The people who adopted me, here on Kamrea… they don’t look like me. They weren’t there when I was born. But they’re my family, as much as Ezra and Clara are yours now.” Cee gasped, her eyes widening. They…  “And I know how terrified I would be if I thought I was going to lose them. But you know what?” she let the hand that had been playing in the wispy strands of the girl’s hair fall to her shoulder. “You have to believe he’s going to be okay. He needs that from you. He’s gonna need you to help him fight, because he’s a fighter, Cee. He’s gonna fight to stay here with you and with Clara. So you need to fight, too, yeah?” 

Fight. She needed to fight her conditioning. Her fears. The doubts, the battles that they were all trying to wade through. She had to push back against the tendency to expect the worst, because for the first time in her life she was surrounded by people who deserved the best, who wanted that for her. 

Cee furrowed her brow, nodding in spite of the tears that she failed to stifle. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” Runa smiled, bringing her thumb up to wipe under Cee’s eyes. “I know this is all new for you. But you’ll see. On Kamrea, we fight for every second. And we celebrate everything.” She let out a small laugh. 

Kevva waits, Kamreans don’t. 

Human life, compared to the life of a star, a moon, the galaxy, was painfully brief even when nothing intervened to cut it even shorter. The fact that the people who called the fertile planet home sought out every chance to celebrate milestones was not only understandable but beautiful to Cee. They want to add more pages in their stories while they can. Have more things to remember. Just as she realized she wanted to trust people, she found herself craving moments that would turn to cherished memories. But… She had limited experience with celebrations of any kind, but what she did know was that they required work to plan. How is Clara going to- “Runa?” 

“Hmm?” 

Cee caught her bottom lip between her teeth out of habit before letting it go. “How can there still be a Harvest Dinner?” She shook her head. “Was Sig just saying that to-“

“Siggi only says what he means, Cee.” She used a serious tone but not an angry one. But, how? “Clara told me, as right after you and Ezra got here, that she was going to have to call off the dinner this year.” That makes sense. How is she going to- “And I told her that was absolutely not going to happen.” What? “I told her that this year, we have more of a reason to celebrate than ever.” She must have been able to read the confusion on Cee’s face, because she went on. “Clara has always done so, so much for everyone around her. And she’s never once asked for anything in return.” Cee knew that to be true, firsthand. Runa nodded. “There are so many people who would love to be able to help her now, Cee. So there will be a Harvest Dinner, and Clara won’t have to do a single thing. It’s all being taken care of.” 

And it had been. 

Now, the Harvest Dinner only hours away, Cee couldn’t keep the grin from her cheeks. She had been busy, changing handles, helping Ezra as she could, and getting things ready for the celebration so that when Runa and the rest came with their dishes and trays, all they would have to do was set them out. She found the folding tables in the barn and dragged them out to the yard, pushing them together to make one long rectangular one. Setting out chairs was next, followed by the little place cards that Runa had written out for her. Cee. Ezra. Clara. She grouped the three of them together, adding the rest in front of the remaining seats. Aldo, Kinney, Marta, Molly, Siggi, Runa. So many people. She found the names of Runa’s brothers, Arlin and Jay, and sucked in a breath as she read the latter of the two- she’d been busy getting to know the two boys, both around her age, as they had been coming to help finish the harvest while Clara was taking care of Ezra. 

But Jay had made her smile. He made her cheeks flush with warmth whenever he looked at her, made her stomach fill with butterfly wings the few times he had said her name. When she felt his dark, almost coal black eyes glance her way, she felt a sudden need to inspect her shoes. I… I like him. She smiled to herself, cheeks likely a shade that would match the fluffy bales of Thulian in the silo, and switched the cards around on the table. 

Clara. Ezra. Cee… Jay. Arlin. Runa. Siggi.  

Before she could talk herself out of switching it back, she turned away from the table and headed inside to shower and get changed. The guests would be arriving soon, and she wanted to look her best for her first Harvest Dinner. Though she was clearly smitten with Runa’s brother, the excitement she felt as she took the stairs two at a time had more to do with the fact that finally, after all of the obstacles there was finally something good and fun and happy for them all to enjoy. Together. 

It was her first Harvest Dinner, and before it even started she had just one thought. First one… with my family. 

—  —  —  —  —  —  

It felt like a dream. 

Clara blinked back tears but her elation kept them coming. Her vision was slightly blurred and watery by the time she sat down at the table, faces and smiles all swimming in the warm rosy gold light of Harvest End, the shorn fields of Thulian acting as a backdrop for her happiness. Music played through speakers that Siggi and Cee had set up, laughter and conversation mixing with the melody, punctuated by the clatter of silverware on plates and serving spoons against glass bowls. The smell of fresh baked Crater-Apple turnovers from Molly’s mingled with the honey loaf Runa had baked and the candy-sweet smell of the pollen, just barely able to hide the hint of petrichor, the rain promising to hold off until the Harvest had been properly celebrated. In so many ways, it was like all of the previous Harvest Nights she could remember having at the farm; family and friends, food, warm weather and fuzzy, dizzy feelings of relief and pride and happiness. 

Aside from the obvious reasons, the night had started on a high note when Siggi had accepted her proposal of taking over the farm when she was ready to step down. It was still eight to ten years in the future, but simply knowing that he was on board, that her farm, her family’s legacy was going to be in good, caring, capable hands had removed a weight from her shoulders and her heart. The lightness left behind was only amplified by the surprise and excitement written not only over Siggi’s face but Runa’s as well, the young couple practically floating with all of the love and possibility that existed between them. It added even more to the night of celebration, but despite the fact that she was glad he had accepted, the offer had been part of Clara’s plan even before Kevva had granted her the things she only dared to dream about. 

The night felt like a dream not because of the Harvest Dinner or because the future of the farm was secure, but because when she turned to her right, Ezra was there.

For the thousandth time since the man had come back to her, she felt her heart skip and leap. For the millionth time since hearing the message from Cee, she thanked Kevva and Fate and every blade of grass and grain of sand and clump of soil that he had to tread for leading him home. For a countless, innumerable time, she felt a new space open wider in her chest for the young girl who found him at his worst and reminded him of who he was at his best. 

My Ezra. 

It felt like a dream, because for the first time in five years, Clara had a family that was unquestionably hers. 

He turned then, a grin stuck on his face as his eyes found hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and kissing him, kissing the lips she’d missed as they twitched into an even wider grin beneath her own. I missed you so much, Ezra. Reaching under the table to where it rested in his lap, she took his hand and squeezed. Inside of the short seconds of their kiss, the tiny slice of time that her fingers threaded through his, images of that morning flashed behind her closed eyelids, and she gasped against his mouth as she heard the thick need in his voice as his words played back in her memory.  

“It’s later, Huckleberry.”

He was still a ways out from engaging in anything truly strenuous, his breathing and muscle strength still not at full capacity even if he had finally beaten the lethal infection. But that hadn’t stopped him from doing all that he was able to do to show her that the fire between them had never gone out.

“Even with two hands,” he whispered into her ear as she leaned gingerly back into him, back to his chest where he had pulled her into his lap, “I was never able to hold as much of you as I wanted .” He trailed his tongue up one side of her throat as he let his palm travel slowly down her naked body, a thin moan practically disintegrating as it left her lips at the sensation. You can have as much of me as you want, Ezra, as much of me as-  “Never able to feel, to touch as much of you as I need to at once.” He pressed his hand low over her abdomen, thick fingers splayed wide, the tips of them reaching down between her legs to brush the warm flesh there, and her thoughts splintered into shards at the pressure. “Now, it is an even more impossible goal. Do you know how I’m going to account for that, Clara?”

Her eyes rolled closed at the feel of her name rumbling through his lungs against her back, at the slow movement of his fingers as they traveled further down to where she wanted him most. Her hips rolled into his hand of their own volition and she was immensely glad that her body remembered how to take control because her mind was already a mess. Fuck, Ezra, I- She swore that she could feel each etched ridge of his fingerprints as they passed over her body, each looping pattern. She reached behind herself to grasp a handful of his hair and was rewarded with a husky groan and a light nip of his teeth around her earlobe, and when she spoke her voice sounded foriegn and faint. “Tell me how, Ezra.” 

His hand slid further down until he could tease her with two fingers, languidly circling the slick skin surrounding her core, and when he answered, his words dripped like honey into her ear. “By taking my time with you.” 

There was an eruption of light and heat that blazed through her entire being as he pushed one and then both of the fingers he had teased her with inside of her, and she had to turn her face to bury her moans into his neck so that they couldn’t be heard all the way on the surface of the toxic moon that had torn them apart for so long. She wanted to respond, to tell him that he could take as much time as he wanted, but his touch after so many nights and days without it had completely erased her ability to communicate in anything but gasps and sighs, kisses and whimpers. 

That had possibly been for the best though, as she wasn’t sure what hearing her assurances would do to him in his current state. Already Clara could feel the length of him, hard and stiff where it pressed against her, and she knew that neither of them would last long enough to fully express what they wanted to. “Take-” she gasped as his digits curled and pushed deeper into her. “Take your time, Ezra… so much time now.” 

After he had brought her through multiple waves of ecstasy, Clara found the strength to peel herself away from him, to spin and settle herself between his thighs, her heavy lidded eyes drunk on the taste of him before she even closed her mouth around him. She had been right- he hadn’t lasted long, but she had made sure that he savored every second that he spent trapped between her lips, her tongue trailing over the tip of him to collect every slick drop. Between the heat of his body, the feel and flavor of him, the strained quality of his voice and the shake in his fingers as he dragged them through her hair and over her spine, she was halfway gone again herself. Gonna take my time, too, Ezra. 

There was all of that and so much more to look forward to now and even as she sat at the table next to him, next to Cee and surrounded by all of the people who had come into her life, there in the place that was most important to her, it still felt like a dream.

But it isn’t. 

They had all lost things, had all suffered and had all known pain. They had all battled through darkness and unspeakable nightmares, had endured tests and trials that were enough to push some people past their breaking point, beyond the point where return is even possible. There were still more things, other obstacles that they had to overcome, and even without those, Clara had thought, more than once, that she herself had become a lost cause, another ghost to haunt the living like a cautionary tale about falling too far into love. 

As the coarse hair over Ezra’s upper lip bushed her skin, the man dragging his kiss across her lips and finally pulling back to let her bask in the warmth of his smile, she closed her eyes and leaned the side of her nose along his. 

I’m not dreaming, she finally determined. I’m living. We are living.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my series/characters, please feel free to let me know! :) 

*** This is the FINAL chapter for this story. The Epilogue, titled Petrichor, will follow the events of this series- But if there are any questions that you have regarding these characters, any scenes that you would like to see or things that you are interested in getting from a different POV, please consider my ask box OPEN! ***

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[katnissmellarkkk]

*kicks in the door* bequeath me your daily chores headcanons

Daily Chore Headcanons? Okayyyy, I don’t know how well this will go but let’s give her a shot!

Peeta does the entire kitchen work

Like every single day

Peeta cleans the kitchen

Sweeps, mops and dusts it

And he does the dishes.

Without being asked, this is the chore he takes on

Because it’s what he knows from a lifetime living in the bakery.

Katniss however mops the rest of the main floor almost daily

Not because she’s super nitpicky about cleanliness

But because she tracks mud and dirt in from the woods almost daily.

And Peeta can’t stop giving her crap about

“Did you hunt or hike through a swamp?��

To which she rolls her eyes 🙄.

Peeta dusts much more than Katniss

Because he’s taller

By the time he reaches twenty, he’s close to, if not exactly, 6’0.

But sometimes they do it together.

She’ll ride on his shoulders and dust the top shelves, the lights and the ceiling.

It also gives him a good workout to carry her around while she dusts.

Their house is very clean.

A striking contrast between them and Haymitch, who continues to live in a pig stye.

Their bedroom never gets too messy

But they take turns making the bed.

Katniss will sometimes make it around him before she leaves for the woods, while he sleeps for a couple more minutes

They take turns vacuuming their bedroom and the spare rooms.

They both also have a thing for organizing

It’s an activity they do together

That rarely ends in any sort of argument or bickering

Because they both love a cosy, clean, uncluttered home.

They also clean the bathroom every so often together

Katniss likes to make Peeta scrub the toilet

“Remember when I cleaned the puss from your leg? You can clean the toilet bowl.”

“Remember when I had that leg?”

They also scrub the shower together

And then take a shower together 😏.

The only room that causes them any friction when it comes to the chores is Peeta’s art room.

It’s a mess.

It looks like a stained glass window threw up.

And because it’s Peeta’s therapy room for when he has particularly bad flashbacks or nightmares, he never gets around to cleaning it up.

It distresses Katniss how unruly he lets it get

But every so often she’ll silently scrub all the surfaces down, until it’s good as new.

Because she understands that sometimes coping mechanisms are messy.

Peeta knows to keep Prim’s old room spotless.

And not to rearrange just about anything in it.

But the thing he does that makes her the most 🥺🥺🥺

Is when he polishes the photo of her father that’s framed upon their mantle and his old shaving mirror

Every single day.

[ositabear26]

'Morning Sickness'

This is published on Wattpad on my account, OsitaBear26. Mutant Apocalypse: 6

Chapter 71

Osa made her way to the stables where the horses waited for their evening grain. She gathered the heavy rubber pans, set them in the grain room, and stood up straight to feel her back nearly locked itself in place. She winced, grabbing her lower back before it did anything further. Osa leans on the closest wall to get a quick break before moving on to go round up more rubber pans from inside the horse stalls.

She walks to the first aisle of stalls, seeing Lucky and her foal is doing very well. "Hey, Lucky..." Osa greeted the paint horse, sliding the stall door open to go right inside to greet the baby horse standing behind its mother. "You guys hungry?" Osa asked, not expecting the horses to respond, but in a way, Osa knew what they were saying just by how their body language was presented toward her. Lucky nickered lightly at Osa, nudging her muzzle against Osa's abdomen. It seems the horse knows of her caretaker's unborn baby. It was as if she understood what Osa was going through as a brand new soon to be mother. "You sort of know what's going on, huh?"

Lucky pushes Osa lightly once again, signaling that the horse did understand.

"Thanks, Lucky." Osa kissed the large animal's forehead before picking up the rubber pan and stepping out of the stall. She dusted out the pan, removing all of the dust and old wood shavings.

Coming toward the stables, Donnie walked to one of the large main doors to see his wife is walking around caring for the animals she bonded with. He sighed when he found her putting the rubber pans into a pile and sweeping the stall aisles all by herself. "Osa," He says, getting her attention.

She looks up, stopping her sweeping chore. Right away, she rolled her eyes. "Go away." She says, continuing to sweep the stables.

"O," Don walks up to her, his staff sitting on his shell and his gadgets sitting on his person. His props jangle and make small noises as he walked. "You need to stop doing chores." He told her. She ignored him. Osa kept sweeping up the hay, wood shavings, lost pieces of grain, and horse hair. "Are you listening?" He asked, watching her grab the dustpan from the broom and crouching to pick the messy pile up from the concrete aisle.

"Can't hear you. I literally got half an ear." She says, walking to a trash can in the stable and dumping the pile into the container.

Don hated how she played hard to get and gave him so many cold shoulders. "Very funny..." He followed her. "Osa, you're seriously going to hurt yourself if you keep working like this." Again, she didn't listen. So, this time, he grabbed the broom from her. "Osita."

She felt the broom get snatched from her hands. "Give it back."

"No," Don replied. "I am not going to give it back."

Osa turned away, going to refill the horse grain like she was doing before. She picks up a few more of the rubber pans and takes them back to the grain room where more pans waited for a refill of horse feed. "Leave me alone. I'm not gonna say it again." Osa dropped the pans on the floor.

"I want to talk to you, Osa." He says, standing outside the grain room, the door wide open. He watched his wife fill each pan with different types of grain. "We need to have a discussion about this whole thing."

"There's nothing to talk about." She said, pouring a scoop of alfalfa into one pan.

Don leaned on the doorframe. "Damn it, Osa." He said with a whispery tone. "You're carrying our baby!" He barely raised his volume.

Osa roughly tossed the scooper into the metal bin full of grain, making a loud bang. She put her hands on her hips and stares at Donnie. "And you don't think I know that?" Her eyes stare at him. That one blue eye she had always pierced his soul and he despised that, but of course, still loved her. "Thanks for the unnecessary reminder." She bends down into the bin to grab the scooper.

"I'm just looking out for you like I should be. Would you rather have me not care?" Don still watched Osa place different grains in each pan.

"It would be nice." She says to him, being a real smart ass with him.

"Oh, knock it off with that crap!" He says to her. "You and I both know you would like some help."

She mocked, barely grinning. "Not from you."

Donnie crosses his arms. "This is all because I didn't get to Cormac in time? Are you seriously holding that big of a grudge on me?"

"Yeah, I am." She said, dropping the scooper into the bin and picking up three of the heavy rubber pans full of grain. Osa stacked them on top of each other and left the grain room with her husband not far behind. "I'm holding a grudge because you didn't try saving Cormac. I'm holding a grudge because you and Abby messed around in a janitor's closet, and I am holding a grudge because you f*cked me and got me pregnant."

Donnie's mind is blown. He feels like he totally got mind f*cked by his own wife. "W-What the hell?! Abby and I didn't even do anything! She came on to me and I pushed her away! You're welcome." He says, moving on to the next part of what she said. "And Cormac was riding a horse! I couldn't run that fast to stop him!"

"Whatever." Osa sets the pans down and takes the first one from the top. She makes her way to the first stall and drops it on the soft bedding of wood shavings for the horse. Osa closes the stall door.

"A-And you and I were both drunk when we had sex!" Don exclaimed, hoping she would just quit her stupid mind games that weren't working on him. "We didn't know you would end up getting knocked up."

Osa steps out of the stall and shuts it. She moves on to the second stall. "Well, too bad there ain't any condoms for your--your size!" She passes by him, bending over to grab another pan.

"Oh-ho, sh*t." Don chuckled, standing next to the final grain pan. "Osa, come on."

"Donnie, I really don't want to talk to you, but here I am." She says from the horse stalls and closes them up after giving the animals their grain.

She was coming for the last pan of grain, but Donnie picks it up and raises it above his head. "I'm not giving you this pan until you talk to me."

"Tough sh*t." Osa answered, going back to the grain room to get the other filled-up pans.

Don groaned, taking a few steps forward, and stopped. "Osa--" He rubbed the bridge of his nose and adjusted his glasses. "Osa, you're gonna--" Then, he felt her body against him, shoving Don to make her way to a nearby garbage bin. 

He watched her spit out a load of her lunch, releasing the burning vomit. She coughed, held her hair back, and hacked a ball of spit. As she let it all out, she felt Donnie touch her back. Right away, she shot up and pushed him from her space. "GET AWAY FROM ME!!" She whined, her eyes watering, face turning bright red. Her voice startled a few of the horses. "I don't wanna talk to you, look at you, or even think about you!"

The valiant leader looks down at her, not hurt by her sentences. He chooses his actions and words carefully. Donnie walks toward her, causing Osa to pin her back against the wall, trapped by the tall mutant. "No matter what you say to me, I'll continue to love you and that baby. Sooner or later," He pauses, leaning closer to her face. "You'll want me, just like how I want you..." He steps away from her, going for the exit of the stables.

Osa pinned her ears back, pissed off about the entire chat they had. She swallowed the pressure in her throat and glances down at a yellow pail at her feet. Osa grunts loudly, kicking the bucket in frustration and watched it bounce off the wall and roll into the middle of the aisle.

She sat down in a chair that was in the stables, regrouping herself before she continued taking care of the horses.

Snot ran out of her nose, her eyes are puffy, and her cheeks are a shade of blush. Osa removed her glasses, dried her tears with her jacket's sleeve, and took a few deep breaths. She looks to the outside and found Donnie is halfway to the school.

[darkhymns-fic]

A New World of All of Us

There's a lone inn that stands in the middle of nowhere, once a place for those on pilgrimage to rest during a leg of their journey. But few speak the name of the Goddess anymore...

Two travelers come by, unfamiliar, but with a dog. But a customer was a customer.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Noishe, Original Characters Rating: PG Chapters: 1 of 3 Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week, Day 6: Let's go explore the new world together! I suddenly wanted to write a story with OCs, but with Lloyd and Colette being the main focus still! So, this is what came of it, and it's not complete yet! But there is a first chapter of hopefully just three altogether. If you read and enjoy, please let me know! And thank you everyone for Colloyd Week this year!

--

For the inn that was placed on the crossroads leading between Iselia and Triet, many still called it a House of Salvation whenever they passed by the structure.

It wasn’t such a surprise as to why they still did- for ever since it was claimed by the new owners, they hadn’t done much changes to its original architecture. It still maintained its two stories, shaped like a pillar, with a great open area inside on the first floor. Where once the symbols of Martel would be decorated along the walls with banners and silk, where the humble statue of Spiritua would be placed on the small prayer dais in the front, with mats on the floor to cushion a worshipper’s knees, it was now just a general dining area for visitors, with an innkeeper’s counter placed to the side. The prayer alcove had been converted to a delicacy stand, selling the innkeeper’s homemade treats they had baked for the day.

Upstairs were still the rooms for the weary to rest, once mainly meant for those on a pilgrimage. But many didn’t really go on pilgrimages anymore – none but the very devout few, who still believed in the Goddess that now watched over a newly remade world.

Mara didn’t really think much about that really. Seeing the time as the sun lowered in the sky, she stepped out of the barely renovated inn, a broom in hand, and proceeded to sweep up the dirt on their front steps. But the broom was a little too tall for her, and she struggled to keep it elevated just right as she went about her task. She also hadn’t done the laundry recently, so her dress was a mixture of dust and polka-dots, and her boots were scuffed from the mud from a few days back when she had to handle a few maintenance tasks in the rain.

Then again, business had been slow these days, and it wasn’t like there were patrons around to keep up appearances for…

And her brother hadn’t been back for many hours. He had left this morning for the nearest town, and already it was practically sunset, the horizon letting her know with its orange glow. “I should have gone with him,” she muttered to herself, pushing out the broom in an odd angle that nearly made her lose her balance. She squeaked, held onto a nearby fence railing, feeling the slow burn of embarrassment flood her face. “And he needs to get me a new broom too…”

She might only have been half as embarrassed as she was, if not for hearing the voice that was, apparently, not too far off. “Uh, excuse me? Kid?”

Mara had only been lucky enough to cut off her own terrified shriek, clutching at her broom like a weapon as she turned. In front of her, the man that had called out to her held up both hands – and they looked to be very red hands? “Whoa, sorry! I… I was just checking if you were open!”

Ah. Damn. She had done it again. She had nearly scared away another customer.

“Hold on! I mean… welcome to the All Hands Spiritua Inn! Where we accept hands of all kinds from all walks of life!” She had said that way…way too loud. Mara did all she could to not wince from all that blunder that came out of her mouth. “Have you seen our pamphlets in town?”

“Huh? Uh, no not really…” Even though this guy was clearly unsure about the whole situation… he wasn’t exactly backing away! Mara tried to take that as a good sign. “Just happen to know this place from a few years back… This is an inn now, right?” He pointed at the sign that was hanging off the front, the hinge off the left just a tad bit lopsided. “Is it alright if we stayed?”

Mara opened her mouth to shout a resounding YES to his question. Then she looked at him for just a bit longer, trying to determine his age, coming up with maybe in his mid-twenties or so… The red hands she had been seeing was from the gloves he wore (instead of being really badly sunburned like she’d been thinking), which matched with the red of his outfit, at least from what she could tell. He wore a brown traveling cloak that was clasped at the collar, nearly reaching his feet. From his motions, she could hear the familiar clinking of metal – weapons, she gathered. A mercenary? Or was he a bandit?

But then, she figured he’d try to be a little more subtle with his weapons if he was coming here to steal her gald under the pretenses of being a customer… His hair was also a bit unkempt, waves of russet hair that under the setting sun, seemed to turn into a darker red if she squinted at it just so. There was only just the hint of stubble on his chin, his missed days of shaving catching up to him.

Then she thought about what he said. “Pardon, who’s we?” She didn’t see anyone with him…

“Oh, me and my friend!” He smiled at her the moment he mentioned said friend, as if a light had just been turned on in the vicinity. “And our dog. Do you allow dogs here?”

“Of course!” she said immediately. “We get strays around here all the time anyway.” Too much, sometimes. Also, her brother wasn’t exactly fond of such strays for a certain reason, if she could just remember why…

“Great!” With that, the man in red turned, put both hands around his mouth and yelled, “Heeey!! It’s all good!!”

Huh. Maybe this guy was a bit stranger than she thought. Well, she had already invited him to stay so there was nothing she could do. I probably should have asked if he had money first….

When she started wondering if he was calling in backup of other bandits to rob her blind, she saw the figure he was calling for. Someone who was just in the distance, half-hidden in shadows by the setting sun. From where she stood, it looked like a horse-rider, and as said horse seemed to gallop forward, its rider waved back happily.

The man waved back so strongly, enough to nearly knock off the cloak from his shoulder. Mara raised an eyebrow. Why did he act like he hadn’t seen this person in forever?

As the figure got closer, she barely could see much else at all. They were dressed in the same brown cloak as the man but it covered them from head to toe, complete with a hood that was pulled over their head. All Mara could make out were the white gloves they wore, which held lightly onto the mane of the horse they rode.

“Hello, I hope we’re not intruding,” they finally said. The voice was soft, slightly higher-pitched – and by then, Mara saw the stray locks of blonde hair as they fell out of the hood. She had been so entranced by the figure that she hadn’t noticed the horse they rode until it was basically in front of her.

It then started to…whine?

Wait, that wasn’t a horse! Mara blinked, looking at the creature with its snout, its overly large ears that fanned out from the sides of its face, its fur with varying shades of green. It was a… what was it?

“Noishe here doesn’t bite,” the man said with a grin, ruffling the creature’s fur, unmindful to the giant ears that looked as if they would whack him across the face at any moment. “He’s a real good dog.”

Mara blinked. “Excuse me. Dog?” She glanced at the creature, noting those familiar features, yet… “That’s a dog.”

“Yep! Would you like to pet him?” spoke the figure – the woman, she finally figured – who still sat atop the dog. Who rides a dog?!

“I’m… I’m fine.” Mara still held her broom, half defensively, even though one end of it was dangerously close to unbalancing herself again. “Well, lucky for your…dog… we have the stables already cleaned out, so you can settle it there.”

“Thanks.” The man grinned, hands on his knees as he peered down at her from his height. She mentally groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Hey, so, are your parents around?”

Yes, of course this always happens, doesn’t it?

“And why would you want to know that?” she countered back.

This predictably threw the guy for a loop, making him blink and stare dumbfounded for a solid five seconds. “Well, it’s kinda scary for kids to be by themselves, you know? And we wanted to ask the owners of this place a few things.”

“You’re looking at her.” Okay, co-owner, but it was still the truth.

He blinked again. “Huh?”

“I’m not a kid.” Mara frowned, standing up tall. “I’m eighteen years old!”

The guy scratched the back of his head, smiling nervously. “I mean… you kinda still are…”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Owner,” said the lady from behind him. She had dismounted from her dog (?) and finally pulled down her hood. Mara held her breath when she saw how the woman had a cascade of golden hair that was arranged in a braid, turned darker by the setting sun, and nearly reaching her waist.

Something about her also seemed… different to Mara, the way she smiled, or the curve of it, at least. She felt a sense of elegance from her, and wondered if maybe she was one of those priests from years back. But the Church of Martel’s influence had waned over the years, and most of its clergy had long abandoned the cloth with the appearance of Tethe’alla.

“My name is Colette,” said the woman, subtly breaking the silence. “Is it okay to ask for your name?”

Mara considered, then nodded. It was nice for some people to have manners here. “I’m Mara. I run this inn with my brother, whose getting us food for tonight’s dinner. I can promise you two a warm meal in a bit if you stay.” Then she pointedly looked at the man. “And be sure to treat me with respect like any adult!”

She was pleased to see the man looked thoroughly embarrassed, still scratching away at that itch on his scalp. “Ehe… Sorry.” A gentle nudge from the woman named Colette startled him for a moment, before his worried face was replaced with a big grin. “Oh yeah, and my name’s Lloyd! Thanks for having us.”

Remember to be nice to people. She could hear her brother’s words in her head and tried her best to cut off any tones of snark in her voice. “Not any trouble. We’re happy you’ve chosen us at the All Hands Spiritua Inn! Now come right this way!” She winced again, seeing the somewhat stunned look on the others faces. She always went overboard like this, or just be grumpy to people otherwise…

After getting the dog to lay somewhat comfortably in the hay (and the woman insisting on giving the giant weird-looking dog a few belly scratches on the tummy), she finally led them inside through the double doors, warning to watch their step on the stoop of the entrance. It was always higher than expected, and she’d had to mentally train herself to hop over it every time or risk a little stumble.

The guy named Lloyd followed her example, deftly hopping over the stoop. The woman named Colette deftly did not.

Mara felt as if she watched Colette’s fall in slow-motion, hearing her startled yell, seeing the way she flailed her arms, which made the cloak around her flutter like a pair of burlap wings – revealing a stark-white outfit that she was wearing underneath – and then fall flat on her face against the floorboards.

Any impression of elegance Mara felt from her instantly went flying out the window.

Lloyd rushed to her side, grasping Colette by her arm. “Colette! You alright?”

“Ehe…” Colette raised her head to Lloyd, already a bruise forming on her forehead. Mara had to wince at that. Ouch. “Sorry. Guess I tripped again.”

“That looked like it really hurt,” he commented, pulling her up gently, their boots making the floor creak.

“Kind of, yeah…”

“Uh, I can get you some ice and a salve for that bruise, miss,” Mara helpfully offered, realizing soon that maybe she should. And since it was their inn that this had happened, she didn’t want any weird legal matters happening.

“That’s okay, I’ll just sleep it off,” Colette said, smiling gently again – just now with a little bump on her forehead. It kinda ruined the effect…

“Yeah, and we got plenty of apple gels to help!” Lloyd looked strangely proud about that, but once he turned back to Colette, his expression went back to concern. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. Oh, wait-” Now back to Mara with questioning eyes. “Uh, is it still just one room up there?”

He said that so specifically that Mara was caught off guard from it. It was true that this place had only one room upstairs, fitted with multiple beds to house people in need of rest. They had kept meaning to put some walls in, or at least dividers, but they never really had time for it. “Yes! It’s just at the top of the stairs. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

“Thanks.” The guy gave her a thumbs up (How weird) and then led Colette up the stairs, their cloaks the last thing Mara saw as they ascended. She thought she also saw Colette’s face continually looking towards downstairs, especially to the dining area specifically.

Once they were out of sight, and she heard the door click softly, she remembered something very important.

Crap, she thought, tightening her hands on the broom she was still holding for some reason. I forgot to ask them to pay…

--

“Is it really not okay to look around there?”

“Maybe not yet… Don’t want to weird that kid out - and he’s not here anyway. Maybe we can try at dinner. Also… you really should rest that bump of yours.” A small laugh. “Sorry I didn’t catch you.”

“It’s okay. My clumsiness is supposed to be lucky, remember? Maybe this means we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

“Heh, you know, you’re right!” A creaking of the bed as someone on it, followed by the sound of shuffling, like someone rummaging through a pack. “Got the apple gels here. You should have some.”

“Okay. Can you feed them to me?” Followed by a light giggle.

A sigh, but there was laughter in it, warm and sweet. “You dork.”

--

When Tavi finally neared the inn, it was with labored breathing, his legs rushing fast across the roads. On his back, he lugged a heavy satchel filled with day-old bread, hastily preserved meat and cheese, along with a few spare gels and any other foodstuff that he could get at a bargain. He tried to keep it steady with his left hand, grasping at one of the straps on his shoulder, making sure it didn’t tilt and carry him down with it.

In his right hand, he held onto the hilt of his sheathed sword. His Exsphere glinted from the shine of the twin moons overhead, seemed to burn from where it was set, just beneath his knuckles.

The attacks on the roadsides had been more frequent lately.

Tavi was at least fast when he needed to be, hoping he had lost his pursuers along the way. A quick shift into a thicket of trees, using what little magic he knew to sweep away his footprints, and his sharp ears could finally just hear the soft chirping of crickets at his feet, the rustle of soft wings as they flapped above him.

As long as they didn’t know where he was headed… they’d be fine. They would have to be.

The inn was a welcome sight to him, looking strangely so pastoral in the nighttime. The paint on its right side was peeling off, and the lower awning that stretched just beneath the second floor was eaten away by mildew, but all in all… it wasn’t half-bad of a place.

He only slowed down his run to a light jog, sword slightly rattling against his leg as he did so, when he saw something using the stables they had. But it was covered in shadow, possibly sleeping inside. There was fresh hay and the trough was filled with water. Was Mara taking in stray cats again? Much of the felines liked to roam the woods near their inn, sometimes curling up on the roof, mewling out into the night. Though now, it was rather quiet…

Shaking his head, he then quickly sprinted to the inn once he saw how close he was. He pushed open the double doors, deftly hopping over the little out-of-line step with ease as he did so.

He was then met with a broom to the face.

“By the Goddess, Tavi!” Mara shouted, hopping on one foot as she jerked back the broom before she did any more damage. “You can at least knock to let me know you’re here!”

“Can you not tell it’s me by now?” he argued, spitting out a few broom bristles from his mouth. “You’re so jumpy.”

“I think I have every right to be?” spoke his sister. “You never consider how I feel.”

Though older than him by two years, she was much shorter than him, just coming up to the middle of his chest. She had a head of green hair cut just at the chin, yet still covering up her ears. In her polka-dotted apron and big boots that looked like they should belong to a blacksmith instead of a small innkeeper, she was always quite a strange sight to see.

He shook his head at her with a laugh. “At least help me with the groceries, I’m about to break my back in half from all this.” He played up the struggle as he slowly removed the satchel, bemoaning all the while. “Treat your elders right!”

“I’m older than you! Enough with that joke!”

Tavi grinned, but Mara had laid her broom against the counter to reach up for the foodstuff and promptly walked away to the kitchen. “We we have customers now. I’ll have to make them dinner too.”

As Tavi tried to tie back his long red hair, he paused in mid-action, then rounded on Mara. “What? Right now?” He groaned. “I didn’t buy enough to feed more than us! How many are there?!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to tighten your belt!” Mara wagged a finger at him. “Besides, it’s just two of them. They seem pretty harmless, and we need the money! They’ve been up in their room for the past hour, so don’t go waltzing upstairs right now.”

Then she pointed that wagging finger at his hand. “And you’ll need to hide that. Or are you forgetting to do that while in town?”

Tavi instinctively place his other hand over the Exsphere, feeling a strange sense of self-consciousness. “I know. I just… got it torn off by a tree branch earlier while I walked.” He wasn’t lying when he said that either.

Maybe Mara suspected, maybe she worried… But instead she walked back into the kitchen, hefting the satchel more easily than her height would seem to say. “Oh, and they have a dog too. A really big one at that, just so you know.”

Tavi choked on his own spit, glaring at Mara once more. “Mara, did you just forget that I’m allergic to dogs?”

At the door to the kitchen, Mara stopped. She turned back to him slowly. “I did actually.”

“Please, Mara…”

“Just don’t go near it! It’s outside now anyway, and they’ll be gone by morning I’m sure.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, taking in a deep breath. At the very least, there was no dog fur near him. “Fine. I’ll be by for dinner,” he said, then headed for one of his own rooms that was to the right of the main alcove of the building – which was more of a storage room that he had converted into his very own.

He figured he’d have to look nice for his guests, and picked up an old mirror that needed a good cleaning, trying to fix up the messy locks of red hair that had been tousled everywhere during his run.

With how tall he was, his lanky frame, and his own bright hair compared to Mara’s, no one would have ever taken them both to be brother and sister. Not unless one happened to catch the subtle points of their ears.

He made sure, as he combed his hair, to cover that part of himself. Better to be safe than stabbed, he thought wryly.

--

Noishe, in his pen, scrabbled at the hay to make himself comfortable. Some of the water from the trough had spilled over as he lapped it earlier, so he made sure to gather the drier parts of the hay to rest on comfortably.

It had been a long couple of weeks of travel, and he was looking forward to rest. But even Noishe knew he might not get that tonight…

From his position, he poked out his head from the stable, hearing the door shut suddenly. He raised his head up to the windows, seeing the light flicker out quickly inside. Only by the moon could he see the shape of familiar faces, familiar hands.

He remembered Lloyd’s hurried look from earlier, Colette’s soft words of reassurance. It had been tough recently, but always they had each other. In the light of the morning, he’d never seen smiles as bright as theirs.

They deserved a good night’s rest, too.

Still, Noishe kept his ears up as he settled on the hay, remembering the hurried footsteps from the stranger. Maybe, at the very least, the early evening could have some calmness before the storm.

[suckmysupernatural]

Weighted Blanket

Word Count: ~1900, Oneshot

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Panic attack, anxiety, medication, language, glass

Summary: Reader has anxiety and panic attacks, today is an off day and Dean helps the reader. Slight fluff

Author’s Note: Hi! I’m Sarah and this is my first fic! Let me know what you think of the fic, what I can improve upon, etc. Also feel free to give some fic ideas :) Thanks for reading my loves. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I woke up, I knew that today was going to be another one of my bad days. There was nothing wrong or tangible that I could place the blame on. It had been a while since I had a bad day. At least I wasn’t waking up in some shitty hotel room or with a hunt planned for the day. Today I got to wake up in the bunker, in the bed that Dean and I shared. Rolling over, I saw that Dean wasn’t laying next to me like I had hoped. Sitting up my heart began to pound. Where is he? Is Dean okay? Where is he? My questions were answered quickly, with my phone buzzing on the nightstand. It was Dean.

Hey sweetheart. Sammy and I went out to town on a supply run, need anything?

Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened my bedside drawer. Grabbing my medication, I didn’t hear the familiar rattle of pills. Crap. During my last panic attack I had taken my last pill. I didn’t make a note on my phone or tell Dean and my mind would always get so foggy during and after a panic attack. It’s a good thing that Dean is already in town. Grabbing my phone, I type up a quick reply to his earlier question. 

 Yes, can you pick up my meds from the pharmacy? I’m all out. 

Putting my phone down to wait for a response, I climbed out of bed and stretched the overnight stiffness out of my muscles. About to head to the bathroom, I was interrupted by a familiar sound. “Faithfully” by Journey, my ringtone for Dean, started playing. Picking up the phone, I pressed the green button to answer the call.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to come home?” Dean blurted out as soon as I put the phone to my ear. The corners of my lips turned up in a smile. I was so lucky to have someone who cared so much about me. 

“Yes, I am okay. I just woke up feeling… off. I’m fine though. I just remembered that my medication ran out from last time, I need a refill just in case. But don’t worry. I’m going to take a shower and then make some breakfast. It’ll be done by the time you guys get back so don’t eat anything while you are out.” 

“Okay… Well if you need me to come home at any point just text. We don’t have many errands to run so it shouldn’t take long,” Dean said, trying to cover up the worry in his voice.

“Thank you. I love you, see you soon,” I responded. 

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Dean replied and then hung up the phone. I was still feeling uneasy but I’m not surprised. My anxiety didn’t simply go away when it should. There were things I could do to help, though. I grabbed my phone and made my way into the bathroom. Scrolling through Spotify, I clicked on the playlist that I had made for days like this. It was a compilation of gentle acoustic covers of classic rock songs. Listening to the originals made my heart rate go even higher, so I stuck to the more relaxing versions. I connected my phone to the waterproof bluetooth speaker I had put in the shower, letting the music fill the room. I turned on the shower and slipped off the T-shirt and cotton shorts that I had slept in. Hopping into the shower, I let the warm water cascade down your shoulders and back, releasing the tension. I lathered my hair with my favorite shampoo, inhaling the apple scent that I loved. “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas flowed through the speakers and I sang along while washing the suds out of my hair. Putting my conditioner in, I could still feel that my heart was beating faster than it normally did, but I accepted it and continued my shower routine. Once I finished rinsing out my hair, washing my body, and shaving my legs I turned off the shower as the water was slowly turning cold. I wrapped myself in the fuzzy white towel that hung on a hook next to the shower. I had stolen it on a hunt a few months back. A ghost was haunting a fancy hotel, which had been a nice change of pace from the usual dumps I stayed in. 

With one hand holding the towel up and the other holding my phone, I walked the short way back to the bedroom. I opened my closet, already knowing what I was going to wear. I grabbed the clothes that I always wore on bad days, it was the comfiest outfit I owned. The first item was an oversize, lightweight blue T-shirt. The material was extra soft and thin. I also had a pair of Dean’s sweatpants. They had become mine after I had stolen them once and realized how comfortable they were. They were old and grey, some might call them ratty. I slipped on the shirt and pulled on the sweats, rolling the waist of them so that I didn’t trip on them when I went to walk. Along with the clothes, I pulled out my teddy bear slippers. They were a gag gift from my sister a few Christmases back, but they were so soft and warm that I had to keep them. 

Feeling cozy and warm, I made my way into the kitchen. Reaching the threshold I stopped and closed my eyes. I could feel myself shaking, feeling antsy and unsettled. Not wanting to keep still, I made my way to the pantry and pulled out what I needed to make pancakes. I mixed up the ingredients and turned on the stove.

Flipping the last pancake, I heard the front door of the bunker open and close. Perfect timing, I thought smiling. The brothers’ voices grew louder as they got closer to the kitchen. 

“Hey boys! Just finished up. Make sure to put the fridge and freezer food in now. Then sit, you can unpack the rest after breakfast.” I said proudly. I was happy to provide for Same and Dean, whether it be breakfast or a hug when they needed it. They were always taking care of me and it was nice to return the favor every now and then. 

“How’re you feeling?” Dean said, snaking an arm around my waist and placing a kiss onto my temple. I inhaled his musky scent and sighed, leaning my head onto his chest.

“Not my best, not my worst,” I responded, pulling out three plates and piling pancakes on each.

“Need your medication? I got it,” Dean started to rummage through the bags that he and Sam had brought in. I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No no, I’m okay for now. Sit down, time to eat,” I said. Dean listened to my request, moving to sit across from Sam. I walked over and put a plate in front of each man. Grabbing the maple syrup, forks, and my own plate, I sat down next to Dean. Handing each brother a fork, I sighed. I loved moments like these, in the bunker, where the three of us felt like a normal family. I didn’t have to worry about an apocalypse or stitching up one, or both, of the boys after a hunt. I could just sit here with my two favorite people and enjoy our time together. We ate breakfast and chatted until the pancakes were settled into our stomachs. 

Sam got up and announced that he was going to look for cases and read up on some lore. Dean and I stayed at the table with my head leaning on his shoulder. Dean’s face turned into my hair, kissing the top of my head. 

“Thanks for breakfast, it was tasty,” Dean said, rubbing his stomach and then standing up, stretching slightly, “I’m gonna take a shower, you going to be okay”

“Yeah, go for it. Be warned, there might not be that much hot water,” I smirked, hoping that the shower wouldn’t be freezing for Dean. I grabbed the plates and brought them over to the sink. I didn’t mind doing the dishes, actually finding them quite calming most of the time. First, I scrubbed the bowl and frying pan I had used to make breakfast. I picked up one of the plates when I felt the lump form in my throat. No, no, no I thought, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I knew that my anxiety was starting to bubble to the surface but tried to push through it. As I started to clean off the plate in my hand my head started to feel fuzzy. My breathing started to quicken to match my increasing heart rate. I took a step back as my vision started to blur from the lack of oxygen. Before I knew it the plate had slipped from my hands, crashing and shattering on the ground. I didn’t even hear the glass break because my ears were ringing. I was sinking into a panic attack. It was somehow overwhelming and numbing at the same time. It felt like the world around me ceased to exist, trapping me in my overactive mind.

Dean came running into the kitchen with his gun drawn and hair still damp from the shower. Seeing that it was only me, he put his gun down on the kitchen table. He approached slowly, trying not to startle me into stepping on the broken glass that surrounded my feet. My hands were still in front of me as if the plate was still safely in my grasp. Dean saw that my whole body was shaking and my breaths were short and rapid. 

“Sweetheart. I am going to pick you up, okay? There is glass all around your feet and I don’t want you stepping on it,” Dean said in a low voice, calm and collected. He knew that I currently didn’t have the ability to step over the glass. Seeing me nod slightly at his words, he moved closer. Dean placed one hand on my back and the other behind my knees, sweeping me up in one fluid motion. He could feel my body twitching against his as I relaxed my full body into him. He started to make his way to our bedroom, slowly in an attempt to help calm me. I opened my mouth, wanting to thank him. 

“Um… I… uh….” I stutter out, trying to fight the brain fog. 

“Shh sweetheart. It��s okay, I got you.” Dean whispered, laying me down onto the bed. He walked over to the closet, pulling out a weighted blanket and pulling it onto me. Opening the nightstand drawer, he pulled out the new bottle of medication, shaking a single pill into this palm. “Open up,” he said, knowing that my hands were too shaky to hold the pill myself. He placed it on my tongue before bringing a glass of water to my lips, tipping it slowly. Once I had swallowed the pill, Dean took off his shoes and slid into the bed. Wrapping his arm around me, he let me burrow myself into his chest as I attempted to match his slow breathing. Slowly, the pill started to kick in, my body starting to still. Dean softly caressed my hair with one hand, the other drawing small circles on my arm. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes starting to droop.

“I’ll always take care of you,” Dean whispered back. You gave him a soft smile before falling asleep, safe in his arms. 

[beauregardlionett]

you make me breathe so fast

AO3 Link

The night was growing late, but the village of Vo still bustled with life - both with bodies of villagers and visitors. In the central hearth, a fire continued to flicker and crackle merrily, height maintained by logs and a careful (sober) eye. Stars were out in multitude above their heads, scattered and sparkling like spilled gem dust. Beau frequently switched her attention between the sky and her intended point of focus on the ground.

She had told the rest of the party that she would loosely monitor things, just to make sure the chaos didn’t end up with people killing each other. The monk was far too wound up from the intense preparation for TravelerCon; still riding the high of almost being bit in half by a dinosaur. She had been serious when she said she wouldn’t sleep anytime soon. There was a lot on her mind.

With a quiet sigh, Beau pushed off the half-wall she leaned against and started making her way aimlessly in the direction of the dancing-fight pit she had constructed. She had no goal in mind, wandering for the sake of restlessness. Her feet felt a little too jumpy to stay still, so she paced.

Dodging a drunken couple that were all but falling over one another and giggling their heads off, Beau continued on her way without a second glance. She wanted a distraction from the thoughts piling up in her head. But she was looking for a very specific one. As fun as it could be, getting roped into things with strangers did not rank high on her priority list for tonight.

Arriving at the pit, Beau scanned over the bodies within the ring of stones. She found that a decent few seemed to be scuffling without much intention. Another decent sized group was dancing to an upbeat strumming on the other side of the ring, cheering and laughing as they went. Content for the moment to watch, Beau leaned against one of the larger stones making up the pit and just breathed.

After a few stretching minutes of this, a soft voice spoke at Beau’s shoulder, startling her.

“Are you going to join them?”

Jumping, Beau’s head whipped around to find Yasha standing just off her shoulder, slightly back from the wall. Beau hadn’t heard her coming over the music and the indistinct chatter surrounding them. She had to work hard to convince her heart rate to settle, but she quirked a smile and turned to look at Yasha fully.

“I wasn’t thinking about it, honestly. Were you?”

Yasha’s eyes slid past Beau to the throng of dancing, fighting bodies behind her, and seemed embarrassed. Beau didn’t comment and instead let Yasha find her courage and her voice while she stared. In the firelight surrounding them from various torches and scattered bonfires that had been hastily constructed, Yasha’s pale skin seemed to glow. It was clear she had been crafting because there were flowers woven into her hair and a few wood shavings clinging to her tunic, and the light around her eyes seemed brighter. Beau knew she was staring, but it was hard not to.

So many things, but not now. Beau had told herself that nights ago, when she had contemplated talking to Yasha about the wings incident. She told her racing heart that now, stalling. Beau told herself this was Jester’s event, the thing she had been working toward and dreaming of for months. Beau couldn’t take attention away from that for her own selfish desires.

“It looks like fun,” Yasha eventually murmured, pulling Beau back down to earth.

The monk focused her attention again and saw the hint of wistfulness in Yasha’s expression. If she knew anything about the Aasimar, it was that she never directly said what she wanted unless asked several times and left no other choice. Beau suspected it came more from awkwardness than anything else.

So she saw the hint of interest there and held out a hand, palm up, before she even fully thought it through.

“You wanna dance?” Beau fought against the flush in her cheeks when Yasha’s eyes immediately snapped to her. She had been schooled in some basic formal dancing because her parents had insisted. The dance these people were kicking up was more like a common village circle dance, though. Beau wasn’t as familiar with it, but she had seen it done a few times in their travels and it didn’t look too hard to pick up.

So she waited, hand outstretched, until Yasha hesitantly reached out and curled her fingers around Beau’s. She couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips, tightening her hold around Yasha’s hand and pulling her along to the pit.

It was easier than anticipated to be absorbed into the crowd that had formed up, the villagers and visitors grabbing at Beau and Yasha’s hands so they could form a circle. At some point, a smaller, inner circle formed, Yasha somehow being tugged along to that one while Beau stayed on the outside. She caught the other woman’s eye and laughed at the mix of nerves and excitement she found dancing across Yasha’s expression. For the first time in a long while, Beau let herself get swept up in the feeling. She cast off her usual mask of suspicion and indifference, let herself ignore the base instinct to question and analyze everyone around her. Instead, she held fast to the individual on either side of her in the circle and danced in time as best as she could with the music.

It was a strange and freeing sensation, leaving her a little unsettled in her skin at how different it was. But Beau was resolute in clinging to her sliver of carefree joy and kept dancing.

After a few passes, the inner circle moved to merge with the outer ring and divided into pairs. Beau, caught up in the dance, grabbed the first body she saw within reach. It was another human woman who looked a little older than Beau, with light brown hair and sun-warm skin. Her brown eyes reflected the nearby bonfire as the skin around her eyes crinkled with the force of her joyful laughter. Beau couldn’t help but beam back at her as she lead the woman through a few spins. They completed a rotation before the partners switched, Beau letting the woman go easily before a sturdy, warm arm wrapped around Beau’s waist.

Glancing up at the taller individual who was her new partner, the music reaching a fast-paced crescendo in the background, Beau found herself being lead through the dance this time. The towering half-orc lead with ease, and Beau muscled down her instinct to take control and merely enjoyed the fervor of the dance.

Another rotation complete, the music building ever higher, Beau was given one last spin as the half-orc directed her toward the partner she would end the dance with. She didn’t know how she knew, but there was a certainty in her bones that the music was about to end. Whoever caught her whirling momentum would be the last.

Sure enough, the moment an arm wrapped secure and steadying around Beau’s lower back, the other hand curling heated fingers around her upper arm, the music came to an ebullient conclusion. The circles ceased their movement, momentum halted. There were exactly two seconds of heavy breathing and fading adrenaline before the crowded erupted into cheers. Pairs either split off with grins and breathless thanks or stuck together as the crowd coalesced toward the musicians and the edges of the pit.

Beau, vision still spinning a little from her whirling, looked up at her partner. Breathless, sweating, she felt her heart skip a beat when she met Yasha’s gaze. The Aasimar woman was staring down at her, mismatched eyes sparkling and lips tugged into a smile. She was sweating too, her hair in mild disarray and missing a few flowers now, but still glowing in the firelight.

“So,” Beau managed through her panting. “Fun?”

“Yeah,” Yasha said, just as breathless.

“Good,” Beau nodded, making no move to break away from Yasha. “Good.”

Yasha’s eyes noticeably flicked down to Beau’s lips, something in her eyes sparking. Beau felt her nerves break, and she tightened her grip on Yasha.

“Kiss me,” Beau barely got out as she attempted to catch her breath.

Yasha looked startled, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t make a move forward, either, and Beau’s heart sank a little in her chest.

“Are you sure?” Yasha asked, quiet and unsure. Beau looked the other woman in the eye as she nodded, firm and vigorous.

Yasha hesitated for a second longer before sweeping forward to press warm lips against Beau’s. Despite the building heat of the moment from the dance, and every charged interaction they had experienced as of late, Yasha was gentle and slow. The kiss was not chaste, but it wasn’t rushed and messy either. It tasted like sweat, and passion, and desire, but moved like they had all the time in the world.

Beau’s knees felt weak, and she leaned into Yasha for support. The Aasimar did not disappoint, her arm around Beau’s back holding fast as her other hand moved from Beau’s arm to cup the base of her neck.

Minutes or hours - Beau couldn’t tell how long - later, they broke apart. Lips sore and glistening, they stared at each other a little cross-eyed, noses brushing, and breathing each other’s air. Beau broke the charged silence first.

“As much as I want to do that again,” her voice absolutely wrecked. “We should probably keep patrolling.”

“Yeah,” Yasha managed, sounding just as bad. “You’re probably right.”

They grinned at each other, giggling and giddy as they stumbled out of the makeshift pit and back into the throng of villagers and visitors. Beau reached out to hold on to Yasha’s hand for some sort of stability, flushing with the other woman squeezed her hand in return.

She still had to patrol for a good portion of the night, but at least now she had company.

[thecardsimagine]

Reunited and Loved

≿————-————-   ❈ ————-————-≾  

Pairing: Muriel X Briar (Apprentice by @amnesia-moth) Genre: Fluff, Romance, Lime Rated: Mature because of suggestive parts in the story

≿————-————-   ❈ ————-————-≾  

a/n: Finally, the first piece from my giveaway! I was very happy to write for Briar who is an absolute sweetheart, and I loved writing this piece of her together with Muriel! Thanks at @amnesia-moth for the chance to write this, and I sincerely hope it’s to your liking too ♥ (Please check her out, she’s an amazing artist and a real fun person to talk to!) Thank you for being so patient, and helping me out to get all of Briar’s fact right, I really enjoyed our talks! ^-^

≿————-————-   ❈ ————-————-≾  

The moment, the creaking door to the small forest hut opened, Briar found herself engulfed by the smells that reminded her of home. Like a subtle, soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the mix of myrrh, dry wood, and a lit fireplace welcomed her, next to the tall, hulky Muriel, whose face softly blushed as he saw her. "Oh," he mumbled, and Briar couldn't help but chuckle at his lovable awkwardness.

"'Oh'? Is that all I get after not seeing me for a few days?" she teased him, and he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. Despite his meager words, his expression clearly showed the affection you could only expect from someone happy to see her, and Briar felt her heart swell too as she found herself back in his arms after a week of missing him.

"Sorry," she mumbled into his chest while his arms wrapped around her in response, keeping her snug against him. "I've been so busy, going back and forth between palace and shop…" The understanding hum rumbling in Muriel was enough of a reply for her, knowing he wasn't that big of a talker. But his hand was so tender, brushing over her back comfortingly, just what she needed after all this stress.

"I didn't mean to leave you hanging for so long, though," Briar admitted, eventually releasing and being released from the hug, Muriel stepping out of the door frame to let her go inside. Muriel could be gentlemanly if he wanted, after all, and at least for her, he was happy to invite her inside.

"You did what you had to do. I know you are busy," he mumbled as she slipped in, bringing the filled basket inside too. Clearly, yet for a reason unknown to her, he had not expected her, wood chippings covering the floor in front of his bed, the table filled with tiny wooden figures and whittling tools, as well as more of the shavings. Ever since she started staying over more, Muriel had been more careful to clean up behind himself and create a better environment for Briar. But by the amount of wood everywhere, and furs thrown around instead of placed around the fire or on his bed, she could only assume he didn't expect her to show up anytime soon.

Briar brushed aside some of the clippings to put down her basket, passing the table and leaning down to pet Inanna, who wagged her tail, immediately rolling to her side to get some chest and stomach rubs too. Licking Briar's arm in return and whining happily, the magician couldn't help but smile at the wolf's affection, much more honest than Muriel's. "Missed you too, Inanna," she hummed softly, and the wagging intensified some more as if Inanna understood her loud and clear.

With the wolf letting out the sound of a satisfied sigh, Briar let her be, though Inanna followed, wanting to be part of the action. The moment Briar turned around, she caught Muriel shoving some wood clippings under the bed with his foot, immediately stopping when he realized she caught him, causing her to snicker. "Going back on old habits, are we, Muri?" she mused, and he huffed, rolling his eyes as he grew even redder after being busted.

"I should have… cleaned," he admitted eventually, scratching his cheek. "I didn't know you were going to come back soon… Thought you might've gotten bored with coming out so far into the woods…"

"And missing out on the chance to meet up with you?" Poking his nose with her finger, Briar passed him, retrieving the one singular broom he had and a bucket to fill with the lost wood shavings. "Never!" she declared, handing him the bucket as she began sweeping the floor. "We can always just do this together, right?"

His response was a quick and positive hum. However, Briar didn't miss the slight embarrassment in his eyes still, knowing that ever since the two got a lot closer than they were before the whole ordeal with the Devil, he had started to work harder on himself and his habits to make her happy. One of those habits was only cleaning when necessary, and instead making sure his hut got a good sweep ever so often, providing Briar with a space to relax and feel at home too. Clearly, he must have missed her a lot if he fell back into just leaving the chaos as it was instead, and feeling a bit sad about that, Briar was glad that the two got to laugh as they cleaned, the wood dust tickling their noses and make them sneeze in turns, gaining even more chuckles from both of them.

≿————-————-   ❈ ————-————-≾  

Throwing out the bucket full of shavings into the thicket in front of the hut, Muriel listened to Briar's humming as she unpacked her basket, calling out to him from inside. "I thought we could make some bread on sticks for dinner! We haven't made some in a while."

"Okay." Coming back in, Muriel set down the bucket, glancing over her shoulder and watching what Briar was doing, even though she was still just unpacking the ingredients she brought with her. "But outside. Last time didn't go too well…"

With a sheepish laugh, Briar put away the now-empty basket, remembering when they tried to make stick bread inside the hut last time, ending in them almost burning holes into the furs from the fire. Luckily, they knew better this time, and she agreed that a campfire in front of the hut would do just as well, if not better even.

"Do you still have the bowl I brought last time?" she asked, looking around the hut without seeing it. Though without hesitation, Muriel approached the chest he kept in all of his important tools and things, opening it to retrieve said bowl. He had to clear out some crystals and a figure he had put into it to empty it but didn't seem bothered as he scooped them up into his hand and back down into free space in the chest.

Thankful, Briar took the empty bowl from him, giving it no mind that he took some time to sort his belongings in the chest before joining her back at the table. Briar knew that if she needed help, she could count on him, but preparing the dough was the easiest part still, so she started it. His presence was less awkwardly standing around, as he took a seat on the chair, watching her. More, he emitted an aura of hanging out now, and so did Inanna, who laid her head on his lap, fishing for some pats and attention from him.

Maybe to other people, this could have counted as weird, as small talk wasn't Muriel's strong point, but Briar enjoyed the quiet being together. There had been a lot of stress and people she had to met and talk to at the shop and palace garden, especially with how frequently she went back and forth between the two. For an introvert like her and Muriel, this was more exhausting than actually working and doing things. The noises from the market and palace servants all around her were another stress factor that made it all the more welcoming to not having to hear anything at all except fire crackling and Inanna's satisfied breathes as Muriel gave her some good behind-the-ear-scratches.

Flour, yeast, salt, and sugar were easily put together, as was the added oil to the mixture. For the water, Briar was so free to scoop some of Muriel's water reserves, of course, after getting his approval, but he really had no reason to deny her this. Starting to mix it up, she felt like saying something, but decided against it, after all, instead focusing on making the proper dough, just how she had retaught herself from her notes left before the plague. It had been a while that she made bread on a stick, but she knew it was ready when the dough laid soft and well-mixed in the bowl. Covering the mixture with a towel, Briar looked back at Muriel, catching his eyes as he looked from bowl to her in anticipation, as if he was only waiting for her to finally speak out what she had on her mind.

"Did you miss me at all?" she questioned sheepishly, freeing her hands of some of the flour sticking to it. Muriel's mouth opened up in surprise, before closing right away, body shifting on the chair with Inanna complaining about losing her comfortable headrest. "It was… a lot quieter than usually."

"Oh," Briar simply said, lips curling into a teasing grin. "So you did miss me. Were a little lonely without me?"

"I didn't say that!" he protested quietly, but the blush gave it away. "You can admit it; you missed someone sticking around here and keep you company!"

"I just decided I didn't miss you," he pouted, though it was all in good nature, shooting a glance up at her, to see her smile from ear to ear. "Maybe a little…" he whispered, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. "I sure missed you," Briar admitted softly, placing the bowl a little farther down the table. "I really missed just hanging out and seeing you."

"You should tell me… next time you have a lot to do. Maybe I can come and help."

"You'd come into the city to help me out?" Briar asked, surprised by his proposal. Muriel's shy nature finally rose as he got up from the chair, to avoid looking her into her eye by merely turning around, and rearranging some of the furs he had previously shoved out of the way without much care. "Well, for you…" he admitted, and sadly, Briar missed the dark splash of red on his face as he said that because of his turned back. But the sentiment reached her still, and she couldn't help but feel her heart swell, knowing he'd go out of his way if it was for her.

"I see… Thanks, Muriel!"

Shifting weight on his feet as he laid out the last few furs, Briar knew he must have felt embarrassed, yet happy about the conversation just like her, even if he never showed it as openly as other people. Briar chuckled at his fidgeting, putting away the rest of the ingredients she had brought before approaching Muriel, putting a hand on his arm to gain his attention. "Can you help me start a campfire and collect sticks?" she asked. Waiting for him to finish his task before he nodded, Briar gave him a thankful smile as the two left for the outdoors, continuing the dinner preparations.

≿————-————-   ❈ ————-————-≾  

"And?" he asked, sticking his head through the door frame, carrying some spare firewood back into the hut for the fireplace later. "Looking good!" Briar assured him, showing him the fluffy, risen dough. "Can you come and knock the air out of it for me?"

"How do I do that?" Muriel asked, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "You just press into it until it deflates again and then pull and stretch it a few times," Briar instructed, watching Muriel getting to work awkwardly. Unfamiliar things always gave him a second of hesitation, but exchanging glances with her, he proceeded to do his best, pressing down into the sticky mess that was bread dough. "Like this?" he asked before tugging at one end of the mixture, waiting for her to confirm he was doing it right.

"Yep, just keep folding it into itself for now~"

With a slow nod and careful touches, Muriel scooped the dough out of the bowl, proceeding to press it down into its own mass again over and over. He sent some more sheepish glances Briar's way, but she only encouraged him with soft hums of affirmation, watching his hands knead through the dough. "You're a natural," she mused, grinning at the shapes left by his fingers.

"With your hands so big, you can scoop it all up into them, can't you?"

Unsure if it was an instruction or simple observation, Muriel easily lifted up the dough, showing that he - in fact - could scoop it up in one of his hands, much to Briar's amusement and excitement. Clapping her hands in admiration, she told him to put it down again, and instead take out smaller portions of the dough to roll them out. "Mhm… so?" Muriel showed her the first dough snake, listening to her advice to make it more evenly, so it won't underbake in the middle and get burned on the outsides.

It only took him a handful of times until he had it right, a hint of pride in his eyes as he presented it to her. Briar let out a satisfied sigh in return, taking it from him to wrap it around the first stick in preparation. "You should have become a baker; you're a natural!"

"N-No, I think I am fine with being as it is…" Muriel was quick to stutter, but the compliment went down like butter, figuring by the way he could barely hide a grin behind his usual indifferent expression. "I think you'd be doing very well. You can do all sorts of things! Mix, scoop, knead the dough…"

"We… didn't knead the dough though?" he mumbled, looking confused all of a sudden.

"Oh, Muri," Briar grinned, obviously in the mood for a tease as she stepped closer to bump her hips into his side. "I know you can knead just fine with those hands of yours! I sampled it last time I came over, do you remember?"

With his expression growing thoughtful for a second, red immediately sprouted in his cheeks again. He did remember the last time Briar came over to relax after a long day. With just the two of them around, and hands finding naturally to each other, it wasn't a big surprise that that day didn't end in the two of them sitting next to each other idly. By how Muriel remembered it, it involved much more holding and feeling each other, sending the heat right back to his ears when he thought of all the tender touches and sweet, sweet affections.

 "I-I don't think that makes me a good baker!" he immediately protested, as if the two situations were anything related, but Briar laughed at his bashfulness, as he continued to hand her dough strings, overplay what he could quickly.

For another two stick bread, they remained quiet, except for the occasional chuckle from Briar and huff from Muriel as the tease was still stuck in the room and standing between them, before his expression fell, less embarrassed and bashful, and more thinking and contemplating than before. "What's wrong, Dear?" Briar asked, noticing his change in demeanor with furrowed brows. "What are you thinking about?"

It took him a second to process his thoughts into words, mouth slightly ajar as he worked it over. But eventually, his movements stopped, hands tearing away from the dough. With worry, Briar followed his glance down onto his own fingers, curling them together to make a fist with his hands. "My hands aren't really… good for such sincere work. Baking is more your thing; it's good work and helpful. I shouldn't do it with those hands of mine."

"Muriel…" Briar whispered, slowly putting down the stick occupying her hands, thinking about what to say. Even though he was much stronger these days, and less caught up in his thoughts about the past, there were moments like these, that brought them forth again. Gently, Briar brought her hands forward, laying them onto his, remnants of flour and dough rubbing off as she brushed over them.

"I think they are wonderful, you know?" she smiled, not looking up at him. Instead, her view followed her finger as she drove down the lines of some of his scars, fingertips bopping every knuckle of his. "They are my favorite hands in the world because they always hold me gently in them. And they give me comfort when I need it, hold my hands at night when I am scared, and remind me that I am loved."

Finally, their eyes met, at least for a brief moment as talks like these always caused Muriel to feel too awkward to hold eye contact with her. "Thanks…" he mumbled, partly sincere, partly in disbelieve still. Of course, words were sometimes hard to believe when he still fought those battles with himself, but Briar was not about to let him down. "Don't worry, Muri!" she encouraged him, taking his hands in hers and giving them a small shake to psych him up. "Until you realize how super awesome your hands are, I will love them, okay?"

Surprisingly, that brought the tiniest hint of a smile to his face. He returned her hold on his hands, watching their fingers intertwine gently. "You'll love them? Even though those are my hands?"

"Especially because they are your hands!" she confirmed.

"No matter what they do?" Muriel asked and smiled a bit more clearly now as Briar gave him a determined nod. Lifting their hands, without letting go,  he forwarded them towards her face and tapped her nose, grinning now. Despite his hands being calloused, it was a soft touch, but the dry feeling it left made Briar suspicious. She wiggled one hand out of his hold to touch her nose, finding white pulver on her fingers from the flour.

"Got you," Muriel chuckled, the first time he actually laughed that day as he saw her baffled expression. "Muri, you're getting flour all over me!" she fake complained, chiming into his laugh as she got a taste of his teasing now in return. After all, she did just confirm she'd love his hands no matter what, so she had to admit defeat to him this time, and considering there was flour everywhere in the hut, she wasn't actually bothered by it.

"I'll have to sneeze if you get it so close to my nostrils!"

"Well, that's what you get when you are together with a baker."

That alone made Briar happy to hear. It was such a positive turn of events, Muriel accepting her words and playing with them too, sounding almost proud. After a week separated, these exchanges were what she had to admit to missing most, just having fun together and building on each other. "It feels good to be back," she sighed blissfully, a sincere smile playing on her lips. This time it was Muriel to bump into her softly, hindering her from getting too caught up in memories and possible regrets of not having stopped by earlier. "It's also good-" he started, pausing to wrap the last dough around a stick, finally having all of them ready.

"-to have you back," he finished, looking at her again with the hints of a smile on his face, no hesitation or reluctance in his voice, just the sound of his honest feelings put into words.

≿————-————-   ❈ ————-————-≾  

Tearing off some of the bread on her stick, Muriel calmly handed her the jam knife, having just used it for his own. There was something especially rewarding in eating their homemade bread, with some homemade apricot jam, in front of a campfire and next to the person they loved. As if all the pieces of a puzzle fell into place, fitting so perfectly, it created a whole new picture. "It's good," was Muriel's conclusion, but his expression was softer than all throughout the day, meaning he felt the same serenity that Briar was feeling.

"It's delicious, we outdid ourselves, Mr. Baker!" Nudging him in the side as she painted the bread orange with the jam, Briar looked up at the sky between the treetops while taking a bite. It was already turning late, but luckily it wasn't a big concern as she'd just stay over if it got too late to return to the shop that night. Much more interesting than the passing of time were the complex colors on the sky, red fading to orange, turning into a more pinkish color before dipping into a deep blue with little, sparkled stars in it. It was the perfect sight to behold, the sky like a painting itself, rocking them gently into the night.

But the fire was lighting the space before them, and Inanna rested behind the log that the two were sitting on, making everything ideally safe. With Muriel at her side, Briar never worried about possible dangers in the woods anyway, knowing he was there and keeping her safe if it was necessary. That was one of the few ways he showed his love. It radiated off of him with every touch he did to her, may it be as simple as putting her cloak over her shoulders properly again when it slipped off from the movements, or the way he hugged her when she approached to hut that afternoon.

"Do you know what makes it especially delicious?" Briar asked, catching him with a full mouth that needed chewing before he could reply.

"Jam?" was his logical response, shaking the glass in his hand lightly.

"Yes," Briar chuckled but shook her head at the same time. "But that's not what I meant."

"Hm? What else?"

"Love," was the answer, and Briar added a slow, wise nod to emphasize it. "It tastes so good because you put a lot of love into it, Dear."

The sound he let out was a mix of a grumble and snort, taking it as another tease from her. "I am serious, Muriel!" She gave him another nudge, trying to look very serious, even if her lips still curled up into a smile. "I believe you." His answer was surprisingly straight-forward while he picked at his stick bread, contemplating what to say with a soft hum from his deep voice. "But I think it's all your love that went into that bread, and that's why it's so good."

This time, it was Briar's turn to have her cheeks turn red, inching a little closer to lay her head against his arm and hide her bashfulness. Not that Muriel was in any state to look at her after sorting his thoughts and putting them into more words either.

"You put your love into a lot of things; bread, jam… me. That's why we all turn out a little… better."

Had Muriel looked at her at that moment, he might have caught how she teared up a little at that, hands falling into her lap as she just wanted to bask in his words for a while and not do anything else. "Just… you know!" he stuttered very sudden, realizing how cheezy it must sound for him to say these things out loud. "...I clean now," he explained, and Briar couldn't help laughing up at this, turning her face into his arm to kiss his exposed skin.

"I get it, don't worry," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear. Muriel heaved a noticeable sigh of relief at not needing to explain himself more. "I am glad things turned out the way they did," she added onto her comment, and he nodded in agreement. It was then when the realization hit that many of the most critical decisions in the last few months could have turned out differently. They could have been better or worse, and ending in the two of them not sitting before the campfire that night, eating bread on a stick.

But they didn't.

And it was good as it is.

Because really, the amount of 'good' Muriel did for Briar, from her nerves to her worries to her very soul, was something she might have never found in anyone else than the taciturn, seemingly grumpy hermit in the forest who she came to love and cherish. No one else would give her the same comfort and love as Muriel did, and not just for the sake of her, but also because he wanted to and felt the same way about her. No place would be a home without him, and no night would be spent with the same feeling of belonging if it wasn't by his side.

Now, every day that the two were together was one Briar could look forward to and remember fondly when she wasn't with Muriel. It gave back some purpose, and more importantly, satisfaction to her time on earth, making the whole ordeal the two had to go through first almost worth it.

"I love you," she hummed, watching the fire dance in front of her, little sparks flying away from it merrily.

She felt him tense first, always the one to grow stiff before relaxing when feelings were spoken about and not merely shown. But he eventually calmed down from nervosity, his face showing another soft smile as he returned her feelings, ever so soft, and sweet to Briar's ears.

"Love you, too."

[darkblueboxs]

Ursa Major

i.e. the beardrew fic 🐻😉

Read here or on AO3 *

“What brings you to town?” The lodge manager flashes Neil an easy smile as he holds the cabin key in one hand. They clink together just out of Neil’s reach, as though he won’t relinquish them until Neil has provided a satisfactory answer.

“Business,” Neil answers shortly, and reaches for the keys.

“Let me know if you want to squeeze a little pleasure in, too.” The manager, whose name badge reading Nicky is almost lost amongst an array of rainbow pin-badges, winks exaggeratedly. Neil keeps his expression carefully blank as he all but pries the keys from him. “Andrew will show you which cabin is yours. He’s chopping wood out back.”

Neil steps out onto the back porch of the reception building, takes one look at the guy ripping logs apart with his bare hands, and decides that he can find it himself. He tries to avert his eyes, but the man stops to watch him pass, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He looks like such a stereotypical woodsman that Neil wonders for a second if he walked straight out of a Brawny advert, muscles flexing as he heaves a lump of wood half his size onto the log pile, several days’ worth of stubble dusting his jawline gold and a glowing worker’s tan defying the encroaching winter. He’s so stocky that Neil almost misses the fact that the man is somehow shorter than him, and for a moment his brain short-circuits as he tries to match his impossible presence to his impossible height.

Andrew – because this must be Andrew – barely spares Neil’s scars a second glance, eyes catching instead on the camera swinging around Neil’s neck. Neil’s hands go to it automatically – the device is worth more than his life – but he stills as Andrew drops the log with an earth-shaking thud. “Point that thing at me and I’ll break it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Neil takes a step back, holding his hands in the air as though proving himself unarmed. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” He turns back to his work, and without looking at him, adds “Yours is the last on the left.”

Neil makes no effort to hide his relief as he turns and heads up towards the row of log cabins, stumbling over exposed tree roots and pushing branches out of the way where the trees have begun encroaching on the dirt path. The place is quiet, which suits Neil perfectly; he didn’t pick wildlife photography because of his love for human company, after all. Of the dozen or so suites clustered around the central building, only two or three appear to be occupied, muddy hiking gear drying on doorsteps, BMWs with kayaks and bike racks strapped to the roofs parked down at the car park below. Neil chose the single bus that runs back and forth to the town across the lake once a day over risking a car rental on the worn dirt track; for better or for worse, he’s trapped there for the night.

Not that he expects to finish his assignment in the span of a day, but old instincts cry out for getaway options. He and his mother spent months in secluded mountain ranges like this one, but they were as much a threat as they were protection. It was easier to hear of visitors as soon as they arrived in the area, but harder to blend in amongst non-existent crowds.

He dumps his rucksack on his bed – he hasn’t broken the habit of travelling light quite yet – and takes in the neat little cabin (cosier than he expected, like it leapt out of a rustic furniture catalogue) before grabbing his kit and heading out into the hills.

He loses track of time quicker than usual, as he always does when he’s in new places, busy taking in the lay of the land, figuring out which trails are worth his time and which are too packed with litter and foot traffic to be of any use. The vistas are breath-taking; glittering pearl lakes studded throughout the endless verdant valleys, mountain ranges that draw across the swirling skyline like theatre curtains. Landscape photos aren’t Neil’s strong suit, but he snaps a few anyway, just for himself. They never had photos on the run, nothing that could be used as evidence, no footprints left in their wake. Neil likes having the mementos now, thin slips of glossy film that prove that he was alive, he was there, that he was real.

Sunset has bathed the woods in rich oranges as he makes his way back to his cabin, legs aching pleasantly with the memory of a good day’s exploration. There’s a packet of instant noodles waiting in his bag and a kettle in his cabin, but the smells drifting from the eatery in the central building convince Neil to forgo solitude for an hour and cough up for a real home-cooked meal.

Either Andrew has shaved since this morning or he has an identical twin; either way, the man who serves him chunky soup and bread does so with the barest pretences of politeness. Neil ignores the chatter of the other guests and staff as much as possible, flicking through the images on his digital display as he chews through a freshly baked roll. Neil’s twin theory is proven correct when Andrew sweeps into the dining room just as dessert is being brought out, windswept and scowling. Neil watches as he begins arranging kindling in the hearth, and soon the room is glowing with dancing light. Andrew stares into the flames, and the flickering glow carves deep shadows into his features, as though his face is transformed by the light. Neil doesn’t do portraits, but if he did, it would be perfect.

He snaps his gaze away as Andrew looks up, unfortunately catching the eye of the man at the next table.

“Photography, huh?” he says, grinning. He’s muscular too. Neil wonders if there’s something in the water here. “Got any good ones?”

Neil hands him the camera in lieu of answering, trying not to twitch his fingers as the stranger handles his most valuable possession.

“Oh, shit. These are seriously good, like, professional standard. Is this what you do for a living?” He hands the camera back and offers a hand with it. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Neil. Yeah, I work for National Parks Magazine.”

Matt whistles. “Fancy.”

“I guess.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but those look great to me. What is it, a tourism piece?”

“Oh, no, these were just for me. I do wildlife photography.”

“Plenty of that out here. I come down most weekends, usually see a few hawks, eagles too. We get lots of bird spotters in the Spring.”

“That’s great,” says Neil, “But not what I need for this assignment.”

“How mysterious.” Matt leans his chin on his hand. “Tell me more, Mister Bond.”

“I’m looking for bears, actually.”

There’s a clatter from across the room that cuts off Matt’s reaction as Andrew’s twin drops a stack of plates.

“Did I hear you say bears?” Nicky appears at Neil’s shoulder as if from nowhere. Neil fights back the impulse to bolt. “Mine is working at the reception desk if you want me to introduce you.”

Matt snorts. “Not that kind of bear, Nicky.”

“I heard there were grizzlies up here,” Neil says. “What do you mean, there’s a bear in the reception?”

“Oh, that’s adorable. No, I just meant my boyfriend. Though he gets a bit grizzly before his first cup of coffee most mornings-”

“There aren’t any bears here,” interrupts another voice, and Neil needs to learn to stop jumping if all the staff are going to sneak up on him like this. He turns to see Andrew’s brother wiping coffee stains from his sleeves. “You might as well leave.”

“Aaron,” Nicky says, “It’s fine, he’s a photographer, he isn’t here to hunt or anything-”

“Pretty fucked up face for a nature photographer.”

“Hey-!”

“It’s fine,” Neil cuts off Matt’s objection. “The scars were my father’s doing. He loved hunting. Me, not so much.”

The group falls quiet, which is the usual reaction his explanation gets. He has never gotten used to the awkward silences that his past invariably invokes, even when he leaves out the years of running, capture, his mother’s slow and terrible death at his father’s hands, his last-minute escape, the months of FBI interrogations and his eventual release. His father had deer heads mounted in his study and Neil remembers vividly the glassy, dead eyes that seemed to watch his every move. No, Neil is not a fan of hunting; he has spent far too long being the prey.

It’s at that moment that Andrew looks up from the fireplace, and Neil can tell from his expression that he has been listening. There’s a strange understanding which has no place on this stranger’s face, and for a moment Neil feels as though he’s stuck in the amber gaze like a fly caught in a honey trap.

“Why bears?” Matt says, and his words are like a hook pulling him from a lake. Neil forces air back into his lungs and turns back to the group. Nicky’s expression has softened, eyes still on Neil’s burns, while Aaron has sunk back into disdain. “Surely there’s less dangerous things to photograph.”

“They’re not dangerous if you’re careful,” Neil replies patiently. “Treat them with respect and they’ll do the same. Besides, I like bears.”

“I hear that,” says Nicky. Aaron pops him in the back of the head, but he waves him off, undeterred. “You should talk to Andrew. He might be able to help you-” There’s a muffled thud which sounds suspiciously like Aaron aiming a kick at Nicky’s shins out of Neil’s line of sight. “-or not, you know, whatever,” he finishes lamely.

Neil glances furtively over at Andrew, who has gone back to staring into the hearth. “It’s fine,” he says, wondering why his mouth feels so dry all of a sudden. “I’m used to finding my own way.”

Desert finished and cleared away, Neil sits with Matt on the couches that occupy the other portion of the communal area along with rows of bookshelves and a desktop computer that looks as though it hasn’t been touched since the nineties. Matt flicks through more of Neil’s photos, stopping on occasion to gasp or croon, while Neil accustoms himself to trusting Matt with his camera. The coffee table is stacked high with leaflets on hiking trails which Neil sets himself to memorising as well as pamphlets on good camping etiquette and forest fire prevention. When Aaron returns and announces that the main lodge is closing for the night by abruptly flicking the lights off, Neil is surprised to realise how late it is already. The fire Andrew started in the hearth has collapsed into flaky grey embers, and when Neil steps out onto the porch the thick smell of smoke clings to his clothes.

Neil and Matt part ways for the night, but only after Matt has extracted a promise from Neil that he will let him show him some of his favourite trails the next day.

Neil thinks he may be unconscious before his head even hits the pillow, and the rustle of the forest follows him into his sleep. In his dreams, wild creatures circle his bed, close, curious, watching, waiting.

He spends most of the weekend letting Matt show him his favourite routes that weave up and down the mountain peaks. Neil wouldn’t usually tolerate so much company, but it’s clear from Matt’s eager nature that he likes having someone to talk to, and his girlfriend, he explains, is on a work placement out of state until next month. Neil is surprised to discover that he doesn’t mind Matt’s presence, and at Matt’s insistence he takes several shots of Matt posing with the valley at his back, which Neil promises to email to him for his girlfriend.

Their hike isn’t all sightseeing, however; Neil pays close attention to any tracks and prints that could point him in the direction of bears, making a note on his map of everything he spots in hope of discerning a pattern. He’s surprised to see a lot of marks close to the popular footpaths, and centred around the lodge, too. Bears usually avoid humans unless driven from their own habitat. Neil wonders if the owners have been less than careful with the bins, encouraging raiders into the foothills scavenging for food.

He spends his evenings in the main lodge, where Matt draws him into conversation with the staff and other regulars. Nicky joins them whenever he isn’t working, and will drag Aaron over when their breaks coincide. Kevin, who is renting one of the upstairs rooms in the central lodge, will occasionally be persuaded to look up from his laptop, upon which he is typing meticulous notes about conservation of historically significant ruins in the area, a topic which Neil pretends to understand on the one occasion that Kevin tries to explain it to him. Andrew, on the other hand, shows no further interest in Neil following their first encounter. Other than occasional odd jobs around the cabins, Neil still isn’t clear on what he actually does, if anything. He seems to spend most of his days out in the wilderness, although Neil and Matt never pass him on any of their walks. Neil almost asks Nicky, but thinks better of it, sensing that such a query would be met with more glee than he is comfortable with.

On Sunday, Matt packs his gear into the back of his pickup and rolls his way back towards the main road, promising to return the following weekend. Neil waves him off, surprised by how quickly the quiet chases away the hum of the engine. He distracts himself from the returning solitude by taking himself off the marked trails and deeper into the wilderness, where the trees grow thick enough to block out the sky and the trickle of springs leads him into sludgy banks that threaten to suck his boots from his feet.

Eventually the earth flattens out as Neil reaches the valley floor, and the springs pool into a small lake that winks at Neil through the trees. Neil finds an embankment to set up on, and is so absorbed in fidgeting with his lenses that he misses the faint crack of branches breaking underfoot.

A shadow looms suddenly in front of him. Neil looks up, and goes still, breath caught in his throat.

The bear hasn’t noticed him yet. He – which he must be, going by the size – is reared up on his hind legs, eight feet tall at least, nose twitching. Neil would normally be jumping at such a stroke of luck, but the shocking bright blond of the bear’s fur stills his fingers on the shutter. He would say polar bear if he didn’t know better, but he does, and they’re about a million miles too far south for that to make sense. So maybe it’s the surprising colour, or the surprise of being so lucky as to just stumble across him, but some combination of the two causes Neil to do something incredibly stupid.

He opens his mouth.

“Oh, you are beautiful.”

The bear goes still. Then he turns, hazel eyes fixing on Neil.

Neil suddenly feels very, very small. Rule one of tracking bears – don’t surprise them. Weirdly, though, this bear doesn’t react in typical bear-like fashion. There is no reflexive snarling, no intimidation, no panic. Just the faintest twitch of his ears, a huff of… irritation?

“Sorry,” Neil says automatically, then winces, because he is talking to the bear now, for god’s sake-

Then again, it isn’t like he’s doing any harm. “You are just adorable. I hope you know that you are so cute. Look at those chubby cheeks!”

And, okay, maybe he’s using the same voice he uses to talk to stray cats, but in his defence, how often does he get the chance to baby-talk a bear?!

The bear just sort of stares at him, which is… odd, probably, but as long as he isn’t snapping Neil like a toothpick Neil isn’t too concerned. The gaze is piercing, like the bear is seeing right through him, and it’s disconcerting enough that Neil almost loses his grip on the camera.

Speaking of which…

Click.

The bear… pulls a face. Neil is about to apologise again, but the words die in his mouth when he drops onto his front paws with a thud that shakes straight through the earth. The urge to run seizes Neil suddenly, hand-in-hand with a familiar burst of adrenaline, and for a moment he’s twelve years old, tripping over his own feet as his mother yanks him through the dark with heart-stopping urgency.

You can’t run from bears, is the thing.

Slowly, Neil pushes himself up the bank, leaning heavy on his arms because he doesn’t trust his legs to support him. The bear just…watches. No, glares.

All at once, the fear that seized him so suddenly is gone, and Neil lets out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” he says, because it seems rude, almost, to do otherwise. He taps his camera. “You were amazing.”

He scrambles up the bank and back into the woods, heart thudding in time with his footsteps.

Back at the cabin, he plugs his camera into his laptop with shaking fingers. He doesn’t stop to check the photo preview on the camera’s digital display, wants to see it blown up on his laptop screen in full jpeg glory.

It’s been a while since he backed up all his pictures, and as the loading bar trickles towards 100%, Neil’s stomach starts to growl. Grumbling, Neil leaves his computer to finish compiling and heads down to the main lodge in search of food.

It’s midweek, so the dining room is emptier than usual, although Neil spots Andrew in his usual place by the fireside almost immediately. They’ve been successfully ignoring each other since the day of Neil’s arrival, but the day’s events spur him to take a seat at Andrew’s side. “Nicky said you know about bears.”

Andrew flicks a scrap of newspaper into the flames. “Nicky says a lot of things.”

“I saw…” Neil winces. This is going to sound insane. “He looked like a polar bear.”

Andrew huffs, although it’s hard to say whether in scorn or amusement. “You saw a Kermode bear. They’re a subspecies of the American black bear.”

“You see a lot of them here?”

“No.”

It isn’t that Neil thinks Andrew is lying, not exactly, but there’s something he isn’t saying. Neil knows the shape of a secret, how it weighs in one’s chest, and Andrew is keeping something big in there, bristling beneath his skin.

“He was beautiful,” Neil says. “The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew replies, and this time Neil swears he can see the bristling. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I’m a photographer. Finding beauty is my job.”

“Your job is to take pictures of shit and persuade people to pay you for it. Beauty is a construct.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Exactly.”

“But not in your eye?” Neil guesses. Andrew’s brow creases in irritation. He dismisses Neil’s comment.

“What are you going to do now that you have found your precious bear?”

Neil shrugs. “Onto the next assignment. Wherever that is.”

“Sounds like a strange life.”

“I’m used to it.”

Aaron clatters into the dining room, grinding their conversation to a halt. His irritation turns to an open glare when he sees Neil at Andrew’s side, so Neil moves off to take his usual seat.

After dinner he calls his editor with an update, slouched in one of the communal couches and watching as Aaron and Nicky squabble over a game of pool.

“Neil, I’m telling you, there’s no way you saw a Kermode bear.” Robin says as paper rustles furiously on the other end of the line. “You’re on the wrong side of the continent.”

“But I did. I wish you could have seen him. He was so… calm.”

“Neil,” Robin says, “Are you sure?”

“I have the picture to prove it. I’ll send it over as soon as I’m back in my cabin. Is this, like, a big deal? Do you think there’s some kind of undiscovered subspecies, or… I don’t know, this seems like the kind of thing bear scientists would care about.”

Nicky and Aaron’s bickering suddenly falls silent. Neil doesn’t bother looking up to see why, not when Robin is snorting on the other end of the line. “Bear scientists.”

“I don’t know what they’re called. I’m just the dumbass who takes the photos.”

“Maybe they’ll name it after you. The Josten bear.”

Neil winces. “Poor bear.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting at my desk. But I swear, if this is another prank or something-”

“I would never,” Neil says innocently. “I know you find my pranks un-bear-able.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Robin says, and promptly hangs up.

He’s eager to deliver on his promise as soon as possible, but Nicky catches him on his way to the door. Aaron disappeared at some point while Neil was on the phone, which is the only reason he accepts Nicky’s offer of a drink on the house, even if he won’t be persuaded from his soft drink of choice.

“That sounded like a big deal,” Nicky says, gesturing at Neil’s phone while not meeting his eyes. Once again, Neil’s neck prickles with the sense that something is being kept from him.

“Apparently I’ve found a bear species a million miles from where it should be,” Neil says. “It could be a big deal for you, too. Researchers coming to the area means more business for you, right?”

“Wow, yeah, sure.” Nicky’s smile is as pasty as it is wide. “Brilliant.”

“Speaking of,” says Neil. “I’ll be checking out a few days early. If you see Matt, can you tell him I’m sorry I missed him?”

“Sure,” says Nicky, although Neil isn’t sure he’s really listening. Neil glances at the amber liquid swirling in the bottom of Nicky’s glass and wonders if it’s stronger than it looks.

The temperature has dropped sharply in the time it took Neil to eat his dinner, and as he trudges back uphill to his cabin on weary legs the wind cuts through his light gear like a blade. His cabin windows spill orange on the path, a lamp left on, dumb, wasteful, isn’t he always complaining about light pollution-?

Neil stops dead a foot from his cabin door. He knows, knows, knows, that someone has been in since he last was there. The lodge offered daily cleaning services, but Neil had opted out for the duration of his stay, uneasy about strangers having access to his belongings even now that he has nothing left to hide. He wants to believe that they made a mistake in the cleaning schedule, but the same gut instinct telling him someone has been in his cabin tells him that it was no accident. Something is wrong.

Neil pushes the door open with the lightest press of his fingers. Adrenaline hums through him, old instincts reawakening as he prepares to be attacked.

The cabin is empty. No, not empty; the furniture, his clothes, phone charger, hiking gear, all still there…

But no laptop. And no camera.

Neil swears viciously. Before he knows it, he’s back at the central lodge, even though all the lights are out and they’re clearly closed for the night. Neil’s hand hovers over the bell at the front desk as the haze of his panic and fury lifts. They’re in the middle of nowhere, meaning the thief was either another lodger or a member of staff. Any accusations he makes won’t go anywhere.

Neil thinks of Aaron disappearing after his phone call, and instead of ringing the bell he clenches his hand into a fist.

The staff and permanent lodgers live over the main building, and although Neil has never seen the upper floor he can tell which windows are theirs by the glow on the other side of the curtains. The walls are made of thick, horizontal tree trunks that make for easy grips. Neil barely has his foot lodged against the first rivulet when he is caught in amber torchlight.

“Can I help you?” Andrew says rhetorically.

Neil drops back to the ground, teeth grinding together. If Andrew’s brother has resorted to a life of crime, there’s no way his twin hasn’t noticed. “Just looking for my things.”

“You won’t find them up there.” Andrew’s eyes flick up. “That’s Nicky and Eric’s room. I can only imagine what horrors would await you.”

“Which is Aaron’s?”

“You won’t find anything in his, either.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Neil snaps. Andrew’s expression is infuriatingly impassive, and Neil knows that arguing any longer will be as productive as shouting at a brick wall. “Tell your cousin I won’t be checking out early after all. It turns out I have more work to do.”

Andrew clicks the torch off, plunging them both into sudden darkness. “I’m not your messenger boy.” Even in the dark, Neil can feel heavy hazel eyes burning into him.

“I don’t care.” Neil storms back off to his cabin, not waiting for a response. He sends Robin an apologetic text and drops onto his bed. Half-formed plans buzz around his mind like flies, but when he eventually falls asleep, it’s with the memory of a ghostly-white bear looking into his very soul. * Thanks for reading! Chapter two is on its way. <3

[queerbutstillhere-writes]

Day 5: Quarantine

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He’d been stuck in quarantine for several days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but being quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toilet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severely upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping to his more commanding, Robin voice.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely. And this . . . He wasn't wrong either. They could just quarantine together. . . 

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him from just a few inches away, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!" He exclaimed, defeated.

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and shave and stuff - or don't shave - and Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss. Kon just grinned and pulled him in close, tweaking Tim's nose before kissing him. Then he shoved Tim towards the bathroom.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom. He quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that and didn't want to make his boyfriends deal with that. 

When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. 

They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table and all the glasses and mugs and plates had been removed. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response, grinning back at the speedster.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against his front.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times. Tim tilted his face up and obliged, wrapping his arms around Kon's neck.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses, turning him from pouty Bart to smiley Bart.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

Once the lasagna was in the oven, Bart made Tim help him finish cleaning, sweeping floors and dusting things, meanwhile Kon just sat by and gave unhelpful commentary and got occasionally whacked with cleaning supplies. Once the apartment was properly cleaned, and feeling much better, they decided to properly move Bart and Kon into Tim's room, even though they had stated they'd probably be leaving to get more clothes and such. And probably their dogs. 

Tim sat on his bed and watched them unpack bathroom supplies and clothes and other various personal items. Phone chargers got plugged in his few remaining wall outlets and things got shoved into previously neat areas.

"Were you really gonna stay here all by your lonesome?" Bart asked, flopping down onto the bed next to Tim and idly bumping his thigh with his knee.

"It wouldn't have been forever, Bart. I was probably gonna go to the manor eventually."

"Ew, and be around your brothers?"

"They are my family, Bart."

"I know but still. . . "

Tim chuckled and shook his head fondly, moving to lay partially over Bart and softly kiss him.

"Wait, is Keystone even in quarantine yet?"

"Uhhh." Bart grinned sheepishly.

"Bartholomew!"

Bart just giggled a little. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to come too!"

Tim just shook his head and then dropped it to Bart's chest, laying on him and listening to his breathing.

"Hey, this looks like a cuddle pile in the making."

Both of them groaned when Kon flopped - gently - on top of Tim. 

"Kon you big lug! Get off!" Tim whined, pushing up on his hands and knees, trying to dislodge Kon, who didn't move.

"Why, I thought you liked cuddle piles?" Kon giggled out, nuzzling at Tim's neck and causing him to squeak.

"Not when I'm being squished!"

Kon gave an over dramatic groan, but moved, rolling and pulling them both on top of him. It took a bit of squirming before they were comfortable, one on either side of Kon, heads on his shoulder, hands clasped on top of his stomach. They laid there and chatted idly, with no concern for anything that might interrupt their lives.

"Bart the oven is going off."

And just like that, Bart was gone. A couple seconds passed, then he was back, snuggling right up against Kon again.

"Where were we?"

Both Kon and Tim just started laughing.

Once dinner was ready, they sat on the sofa and binged a couple episodes of Broadchurch before settling into another cuddle pile. Their default form was cuddle pile. Then eventually Bart got bored with sitting still, so they turned on Mario Kart, played a few normal rounds to watch Kon and Bart suffer, then Tim turned on the mod he had made to make the game go super fast. 

He had learned not to watch the screen while this was happening. That's how you got eye damage.

"I'm gonna go do a little patrolling," Kon said, standing after Bart had beat him, again.

"Oh. Okay. Be careful, give a call if you need any help," Tim said, looking up from his laptop.

"Yeah, if I need anything, I'll call Bart."

"Kon."

"Hey, you're grounded, remember?"

Tim sighed, stretching up so Kon could kiss him. Kon chuckled and did so, then bent over the back of the sofa to kiss Bart, before disappearing into the bedroom to change. Then he called a goodbye on the way out the window. Tim and Bart looked at each other.

"So what are we doing then?"

Tim shrugged vaguely and looked back at his laptop.

"Well I'm gonna keep playing my game then."

"Okay."

Bart left him alone for a solid twenty minutes, which was a bit of a record for him, then he was tugging on Tim's laptop, trying to steal it.

"Yes, Bart?"

"I wanna cuddle."

"Cuddle?"

Bart's silence cause Tim to look over, and found he was pouting. Tim chuckled and saved his files, setting the laptop on the floor, then moving so his back was on an armrest, and opened his arms for Bart. Bart practically dove forwards, laying between Tim's legs, head on his chest, arms around his stomach. Tim chuckled and adjusted a bit for his own comfort, then let himself relax with Bart.

Eventually they turned on a movie and just laid together, idly chatting. There would be plenty of time for work later, Tim decided. But for now, he'd spend time with Bart. He may be stuck with these two for months before restrictions laxed, but he would take every moment he could, just to spend time with them while he could.

Kon got back after a few hours, stumbling back through the window, and giving them a grin, but he didn't come over, just walked away into the bathroom, leaving the scent of soot and acid in his wake.

"He's stinky," Bart remarked, still laying on Tim's chest.

"Hmmn, stinky boy."

Bart sniggered. Tim had, at some point, set his laptop on Bart's ass and was still working. Was it the most effective or romantic? No. But Bart didn't mind and it was keeping Tim from getting bored. 

Then his phone started ringing.

"Bart, grab that for me please?"

Bart quickly grabbed the phone from the coffee table before immediately settling back into place.

"Yello?"

"Hey, Timmy."

"Hi Dick, what's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check in and see how things were going with you."

Tim glanced down at Bart.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? Just hanging out and working on cases, I assume?"

"Yeah, I'm working on that March case."

Dick hummed from across the line.

"Well, are you sure you don't want to come to the manor?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Honestly I'm surprised you're there. I thought you'd be with Wally?"

There was a pause. 

"I was going to, but he got directly exposed the day before he was supposed to come down, and he didn't want to risk it until he discovered if speedsters could actually catch it."

"Hmmn, I have it on good authority they can't."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"They're there with you, aren't they?"

Tim just grinned, even though Dick couldn't see it. His brother laughed.

"Tim, you scoundrel."

"Listen, I told them no, they wouldn't listen to me, and then when they showed up, it was too late because Bart like, immediately kissed me."

"Hell yeah I did."

Dick just laughed again. Tim could envision him fondly shaking his head.

"So, I'll let you go then, I'm sure you guys have some catching up to do, if you know what I mean."

"Oh my god, shut up," Tim laughed out, even as he started playing with Bart's hair.

"Just speaking the truth!"

"Goodbye, Dick."

"Bye, Timmy! Love you, stay safe!"

"You too!"

Tim hung up the phone and let it fall to the ground beside the sofa.

"Oh good, you're off. I didn't want to come do this with your brother still on the phone."

Tim tilted his head back to see a shirtless Kon standing over him, grinning, hair still dripping slightly from his shower. He bent down and deeply kissed Tim. Tim gave a surprised noise and reached a hand up, resting it on Kon's jaw. When he pulled away, leaving Tim breathless, he just grinned mischievously, then moved so he was closer to Bart.

"Bartie."

"Hmmn?" When the ginger picked his head up, Kon kissed him the same.

Bart just grinned at him after, and put his head back on Tim's chest.

"Do you guys want a snack, because I'm starving."

Tim watched Kon walk away, and just had to laugh.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After their snacks, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon decided to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed, instead of just letting him walk.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

@core-disaster-week-2020 originally written for @unknownunseenunheard !!

[crawlspaceplayblog]

Jane Doe #2

For the most part, I actually really like the process of renting the space out. There’s something soothing about cleaning between the renters, the sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, changing sheets, all that. Something nice about how it’s both cleaning up after someone is gone and cleaning in preparation for the next person’s arrival. I like how in theory you could be in this cycle forever. If you have enough business, that is. I have enough business. Maybe it’s the woods. Maybe it’s the high ceilings. Or the natural light. Or how good I am at cleaning.

I could tell this woman was looking for things to be out of place. When we did the customary chat in the kitchen, she spent most of the time looking under lids, peeking into cabinets, touching things and then checking her fingers. When she wasn’t being nosy like that, she had her arms crossed so tightly it looked like it hurt. One of those people.

Alone at night, people tend do things you’re not expecting – the Type As with their hyperstreamlined emails actually throw their belongings around the room like tornados, whereas the ones who haven’t bothered to shave anything in months and think I can’t smell the weed are the ones who fixate on one ant on the windowsill. After all, that’s their space to finally do what’s not expected of them. It’s almost more surprising when everything about them matches up, right down to their final moments before sleeping.

I should have brought a notepad because this woman did so many things I think I lost track.

She unpacked everything in her suitcase, checked every pocket, then put it beside the dresser. Then she unpacked her little makeup bag, which had its own littler makeup bag inside it. Then she lit a candle that came out of nowhere. Then came the actual grooming routine. Anything you can think of, she did it. Clipped her fingernails, then her toenails, then did some clear polish touch-ups. Plucked in front of the mirror for a few minutes, popped a pimple, then did some makeup remover, followed by a clay mask of some kind, followed by a pore strip. At this point I started hoping this wasn’t going to be the routine every night – not just because it’s going to get boring, for you, and me. But just because if she does this every night, she won’t have any skin left by the time she’s thirty.

She changed what she was going to wear to bed three times. The first time, some big kind of t-shirt from a camp or something, and a pair of those soffe shorts. Then she switched to a bigger pair of shorts and a slightly smaller t-shirt. Finally she switched into sweatpants and called it a day. Almost as if she knew someone was going to write about the final result.

Then she went up to the window. I wondered what she was going to do. Windex it for me? Apply a coat of clear polish?

But she just stared out the window into the night.

It was the first time she was still all day.

[septic-skele]

UF - Necessary Evil

Summary:  Papyrus gives Sans one of the most torturous tasks of his life. He can't falter. He can't hesitate. If he backs down and takes the coward's way out, Papyrus will be forced to do it himself.

Sans thinks he might be sick before this is over. He’s near certain that Papyrus will; his brother—poor, dear, brave Papyrus—is grinding his teeth against the sobs with such force that he might taste dust. His eyelights are brighter than Sans has ever seen them, swimming with the tears that stream down his face.

Sans hasn’t seen him cry so openly since he was seven (or younger?) and the fact that he is the one causing his brother this agony makes his soul churn in his chest.

“Papyrus,” he starts again, feebly.

“No!” he chokes out, though it’s more of a heated moan than an intelligible word. He rocks forward with a foul, frantic curse he shouldn’t know at his age. His shoulders heave and his head shakes, tears flinging from his cheeks. “I need this, I need this!”

“I want this!” he had said before, among so many other things. “How many times have you reminded me of Rule #1, Sans? ‘Never let them get too close!’ I need this to defend myself!”

And you, his imploring eyes and grabbing hands had added none too subtly, and still Sans had viciously refused. Nothing in this world could convince him to mutilate his own kin, he thought—that is, until Papyrus threatened to do it himself.

“You don’t even know what you’re sayin’. You don’t have the balls for somethin’ like that, not all by yourself.”

Did Sans know him at all? Those words were like throwing a match on gasoline. Papyrus’ pocketknife, salvaged from the dump, was out in a flash, its blade blunt and pitifully small. The real threat was the unflinching determination in his voice.

“Watch me.”

That growl was a promise—as good as saying he would be dead by morning. As young and as smart as he is, only Papyrus would find a stupid way to take it too far. What would Sans prefer, a pocketknife buried in dust or the guilt of aiding and abetting his brother’s torture?

Poor, precious, brave, stupid Papyrus is hovering at half of his HP. Sans checks obsessively. Every fraction lost, every new particle of dust coating his fingers chills him. His ribs are numb. He hasn’t breathed in minutes.

Sans wants so badly to take the coward’s way out. He wants to toss the knife aside and slap some kind of reason into Papyrus, wring his neck, shake him senseless for putting him in this position. He doesn’t want to hear him sobbing anymore. He doesn’t want to keep repeating, “Stay still, you gotta stay still!” The words taste more and more like bile every time.

Something manic at his core—layers of conditioning, perhaps—wishes they were back in the lab. They would be tortured all the same but there it would be sterile, professional, by someone who knew what in Asgore’s name he was doing. There would be medicines, a rare offering of a healing item. Sans would give anything for a healing item now, anything to smother the scream that tears out of Papyrus’ throat as he drags the knife down yet again. He should have thought to gag him, give him something to bite down on, but if he sets down the knife to do so now he knows he won’t have the will to pick it up again.

“Papyrus,” he murmurs desperately. “Papyrus…” His voice quavers and he can’t even care. He’s begging his own brother to save himself from himself. Say one word. One word and I can stop. Make it stop. Get us both out of this now.

Papyrus sobs bitterly and Sans can hear the temptation in it. Stupid, brave Papyrus didn’t understand the magnitude of his request before. He doesn’t want this anymore.

But in this world, he needs it.

“No,” he croaks again, small and raw, and then he reels to the side and vomits. The lurching motion chips Sans’ next stroke, fiery horror sweeping over him at his carelessness, but he can’t think on it long. Papyrus is doubling down now, leaning over their shared work with slurred, spitting pleas. Sans gasps in agony of his own, hunches over, pressing his forehead to his brother’s.

“I know, I know,” he hisses, though he doesn’t know. He wants this to be a nightmare. He wants to wake up.

Papyrus, it seems, wants to do the opposite. His tears still flow freely, his breaths still shuddering with pain, but his bones rattle under the strain as he sways. Sans prays for him to faint. He’ll see then why Sans prefers not to wake up. The darkness is empty and kind; he won’t feel another thing. That, Sans can do for him. He draws back, steadies his hand again.

One more swipe of the blade does it, pushing Papyrus past the white-hot crest, past the stars in his eyes and the defiance in his spine to finally let him fall on his sword. He crumples out of consciousness mid-whimper and the world feels empty without his noise.

Sans could betray him now. He could make the knife disappear, hurl it into Waterfall’s deepest pool. He could end this for the both of them. Let Papyrus hate him if it meant he could wash his hands of it.

He’s just a kid, a kid Sans is sworn to look after—a kid who made this choice himself. They don’t have many freedoms to choose in their lives, do they? And Papyrus had relied on Sans to help him do this horrific thing. He could have said nothing, snuck off to try it himself from the get-go and left Sans to sweep up the pieces, if he ever found them.

Papyrus trusted him.

Sans wants to break. He wants to be rid of this dusty blade locked in his grasp and curl around his little idiot, hide him away and swear that he will never be hurt again by anyone or anything, not even by his own choices, because Sans won’t allow it. He wants Papyrus to hate him for that protection; it would be nothing compared to the loathing he feels for himself now, doing this to the only person in the world that matters.

Ah, but hasn’t he learned by now? What he wants is irrelevant. His job is to sacrifice his wants for Papyrus’ sake.

Sans cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, wipes his damp face against his sleeve. Was he crying? He hadn’t noticed. He blinks through the blur and takes Papyrus’ hand in his own. He would squeeze the blood out of it if there was any to be found. Stroke by stroke, finger by finger, he scrapes at tender, exposed bone.

He held these hands to steady Pap when he was learning how to walk. They were so small back then; they barely filled Sans’ palm.

Papyrus’ HP whittles painstakingly down. Sans trembles, mopping his face again, but his eye sockets still burn with the particles in the air. He coughs and then blows away whatever shavings he can.

He remembers the first time one of these tiny, precious hands tried to grab his thumb.

Dizzy with old grief, he slides his fingers along Papyrus’, testing their bend, their curvature. His newly carved claws are grisly to behold. In his soul Sans knows it probably won’t be long before they’re coated in dust again.

At least it won’t be his own.

This world can fashion even the kindest of monsters into weapons.

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A/N: Real talk, I'm not one to get teary over my own stories very often but I kind of got myself with this one :'D

My headcanon, clearly, is that Fell Papyrus wasn't born with those sharp claws of his. Just as he and Sans had to forcibly sharpen their teeth, they had to sharpen Pap's hands (As far as I know Fell Sans doesn't have the claws Pap does, so it wouldn't be a choice he'd make for himself. He doesn't have the HP to endure it.)