#engines are for cowards who need second tries when landing

[thefrogofrainbows]

Y’all I know I haven’t done anything on here I’m sorry just incredibly busy I see y’all @ ing me on all the fun posts and I wanna respond but I’m just incredibly busy rn. I’ll do em later I prommy. In other news I DID MY FIRST SOLO FLIGHT A FEW DAYS AGO!!!!! I! FLEW! A! PLANE! ALL! BY! MYSELF!!!!!! AND I DIDNT DIE!!!! I’ve solo’d a bunch since then but it’s still magical. It’s actually wild being up in an aircraft and you’re the one in control 100%

[writerofadream]

Fortune favors the Bold ⛓

TDI!Duncan x Juvie Bestfriend! Reader ⛓

Chapter Five: Hug me (Or kiss me)

You and Duncan stared as most of the 'Screaming Gopher's' team jumped down. Then it got to Owen. Geoff, Gwen, and You go to the outhouses all stationed around various areas on the island. When it's your turn to go in, you start to laugh. "He's going to drown us all if he jumps. I for one, am to young to die."

Then you go back to the moutain and see he still hasn't jumped.

"We're all doomed aren't we?" Duncan whispered in your ear. "Oh most certainly." You laugh under your breath.

Then you watch as your end falls from the sky, and hits the water like a bomb making water splash all around you dispersing the campers in every which way. Duncan and you landed right by each other, his legs tangled with yours.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate water?" Duncan groaned his body shivering from excess fear he was shoving down. "Actually yes, countless of times." You laughed ruffling his hair as he pinned you to the grown smiling. "Don't touch the hair, princess."

"Yes, yeah! Who's the man?" Owen yelled from the safe zone in the water. The Screaming Gophers had won, the team cheered and you groaned. "Coward fucking Courtney." Duncan hit his head against the sand in contempt. "Be nice." You lightly punched his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" You heard Trent ask. "I think I lost my bathing suit." Owen muttered. "Ew." All the campers voiced their varying opinions of grossness.

As their prize the Screaming Gophers got wagons to wheel their boxes, but that didn't really bother you. The rest of your team? Yeah, it bothered them. Duncan kicked his, you just carried yours on your shoulders. "Lift with your back wasn't meant to be taking literally." Duncan teased you smiling as Eva and Courtney argued.

Tyler finally voiced his need to take a piss (for some reason) and suddenly Sadie and Katie had to go as well much to Eva's dismay. Luckily, it didn't take them very long but you noticed when Satie and Katie returned their thighs were a redish tint, but you stayed silent.

"Poison Ivy?" Duncan asked from next to you. "Oh for sure." You smiled as Chris asked you guys what was taking so long, lightly screaming when he saw Courtney's eye which was now pulsating.

Duncan rememebered when you both were around nine and were sent to 'Wilderness Survival School for troubled kids' and one of your teachers left you all in the middle of nowhere in a forest for three weeks without any supplies.

Bridgette began asking them what kinda plants had been around them when they had left, and she very quickly realized their mistake. "You guys squatted on poison ivy." She laughed behind her palm. "Oh no way, that's awesome." Chris laughed at the now freaking out girls.

Finally they ran into the water and you guys left them behind.

Geoff tried to give you all a 'inspiring speech' but in reality it made you realize how close you were to tackling someone. Courtney decided she was going to be the 'project' manager and yelled at Duncan almost immediately.

She put you in charge of building the motor which you did with ease. They had you build small engines at juvie a LOT and she had Duncan use his switchblade to cut the boxes open. But everyone else failed their jobs... spectactuarly.

The other team's hottub looked terrific.

Yours look like it did drugs.

So obviously, they won.

Yours had exploded the second Chris had touched it. "Well, I think we have a winner here." the host yelled. "The Screaming Gophers!" He announced their prize. "I'll see your sorry butts at the campfire tonight." He yelled at you guys.

Once it was time for dinner, Katie (or was it Sadie?) finally asked the question everyone was dying to know. "So- uh- what do we do now?" she muttered. "We have to figure out who we're going to vote off." Courtney explained her eye still swelling. "Well, I think it should be you sweetheart." You smiled pointing at her. "Or maybe the brick house here." Duncan pointed at DJ. "What! Why?" Courtney whined.

"Because, unless I'm mistaken, you two are the only ones here with the chicken hats, and if we ever have to lift a truck I like our chances better with the big guy." Duncan bumped shoulders with DJ causing the man to smile.

"You guys need me. I'm the only one-" Courtney began to whine. "We know, who used to be a real C.I.T." Bridgette groaned rolling her eyes. "I hate to break it to you hun, no one gives a shit." You laughed at Courtney's expression. "So who would you pick?" Bridgette asked finally letting the girl speak.

"What about him?" Courtney pointed at Tyler causing Lindsay to scream at the other table. "At least he jumped off the cliff." Duncan pointed out. "Chicken wing." You chimed in causing Courtney to yell "Shut it!" At you. "Okay, let's just chill out, this is getting way too heavy." Geoff got between you both causing you to growl.

"I've had enough prison food for one day. I'm gonna take a nap, you coming Y/N?" You both stood up to go walk off but Courtney stopped you. "You can't do that, we haven't decided who's going yet." She complained causing you to groan. "I just told get why we lost, eh. They're the ones that have six girls." That made you stop dead in your tracks because there ain't no way Ezekiel just said that.

Before Duncan could stop you, you had shoved Ezekiel's face against the table slamming it hard. "What's that supposed to mean?" Bridgette growled. "Yeah home school, enlighten us." Eva hissed. "Well guys are much stronger and better at sports then girls are." Ezekiel said his voice muffled against the table. "Dumbass." Duncan groaned from behind you.

Geoff saw this look in your eyes and took a step back. "Oh snap, he did not just say that." Geoff laughed putting a hand to his face. "My dad told me to look out for the girls here, eh, and to help them in case they can't keep up." Eva grabbed Ezekiel by the throat pulling him up. "Still think we need your help keeping up?" She growled. "Not really." Ezekiel shrugged. "Okay guys let's give him a break." Geoff had Eva drop him. "At least he doesn't think guys are smarter then girls." Geoff explained and suddenly Ezekiel decided to say..

"Well they are!"

Duncan had to pull you off of him.

That night at the campfire Duncan sat on the bench and you sat at his feet . "Dude, you've got a lot to learn about the real world." He advised the homeschooled boy. "Killer bass, at camp marshmallows represent a tasty treat that you enjoy roasting by the fire. At this camp marshmallows represent life. You've all cast your votes and made your decision. Thee are only eleven marshmallows on this plate. When I call your name, come up and claim your marshmallow. The camper that does not recieve a marshmallow tonight must immediately return to the dock of shame to catch the boat of losers. That means you're out of the contest and you can't come back... ever. The first marshmallow goes to... Geoff." Chris explained the 'game.'

You weren't worried.

He went down the list of names rather quickly.

"Duncan. Y/N." Chris called out and Duncan threw a marshmallow into your mouth. You hated toasted marshmallows. Finally Chris made his last annoucement. "Campers, this is the final marshmallow of the evening." It was between Courtney and Ezekiel. You stared at your bloodied knuckles.

.....

......

.....

.....

"Courtney. Can't say I'm surprised, I saw you picking your nose, not cool bro. Dock of shame is that way." Chris pointed and for some damn reason Ezekiel looked surprised.

After the rest of them ate their marshmallows you walked back to the cabins going past the dancing gophers. You stepped up onto your cabin's steps and everyone quickly went inside leaving Duncan and you alone. He kissed your knuckles. "Your anger is a beaut everytime." He quietly teased grabbing your waist to bring you closer.

"Mhm." You laughed.

"Well, goodnight scorpion." He kissed your cheek and you fucking blushed to your dismay. "Screw you, tiger." You kissed his cheek right back and dissapeared before he could say anything. You left the 'green-haired dickhead' standing there holding his cheek in surprise.

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|Trending on X right now|

#Yourangerisabeaut

#CHRISTMASS

#holyshittheykissed

#THEYLOVEEACHOTHERRR

#homealoneremake

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[sodalitefully]

It’s hazardous to breathe... [GNR Mad Max AU, pt. 2]

This is the second and final half of @smokeandmirrorz’s and my GNR AU inspired by the movie Mad Max: Fury Road! Thank you for reading, enjoy 😊

*Contains mpreg, character death, and plenty of unpleasant things from the Mad Max universe, including implied/referenced sexual violence, some regular violence/gore, and Immortan Joe.*

[part 1]

----

The sun-baked sand stung the soles of Slash's bare feet as he curled his toes and bit his lip and tried not to let the pain show on his face.

After the sandstorm and all the chaos that came before it, Izzy had decided that there was enough space between them and the War Party to take a much-needed break.  And as much as Slash appreciated a drink of water and a chance to stretch his legs, he was more than ready for them to pack it up and keep moving.

With every gust of wind, he thought he could hear drums pounding and engines roaring, and with every step, he scalded his sensitive soles.  But he didn’t like the idea of voicing his discomfort to the others, so instead he tiptoed back into the shade of the War Rig and sat on the side of the fuel pod, carefully perching his feet so that they wouldn’t touch the ground.

It had been years since Slash last found himself surrounded by people that he mostly-almost-kinda-sorta trusted, and he thought it might be a few more years before he relearned to act like it.  

Steven was happily banging sand off the sides of the War Rig with a spare pipe.  Duff was fiddling with the hose, looking at it in fascination like it was the Fountain of Life itself.  Axl was taking inventory of the weapons, which spoke volumes about how much Izzy trusted him, and Izzy himself...

"Are you just planning on sitting there, or are you going to help, Princess?"

"Well I –" Slash wasn’t sure if he’d rather get up and tough it out, or explain the problem to Izzy, but Steven interrupted him before he could decide:

"How can you talk to him like that, Imperator?!" Offense was plain on his face, his sand-clearing weapon hovering near his head mid-strike.

Oh no. 

"I'll talk to him however I want," Stradlin retorted, rather unhelpfully in Slash’s opinion.

"He's a wife!  He was chosen by the Immortan himself to be one of his prized breeders!  He's the most shiny, chrome –"

"Steven, stop, put that down..." Slash's weak attempt to defuse the conversation went unnoticed.

“You can give up the zealot act, the Immortan’s not here to give you a pat on the head for it! Slash isn’t his wife anymore and he’s never going to be again, so you better get used to it.”

The bomb went off. Axl drifted closer as Steven started shouting at Izzy, who tensed up, ready for a fight.

"You – You 'traitored him?  You're stealing his wife for yourself, is that it? How could you, you fucking – "

"I knew you should have killed him to begin with.  He's a fanatic, there's no saving him – "

"Slash deserves better than a weak, 'traitoring coward and his feral bloodbag!  You're mad if you think you can get away with this, when the Immortan catches you, he'll – "

"Steven!"

Finally, Slash got his attention.

"Just... Come here.  Stradlin, Axl, fuck off for a minute.  See if you can pry Duff away from the hose or something, I don't care, just let me talk to Steven.

"Look, Stevie, just listen to me, alright?  I asked Izzy to get me away from Joe because he was cruel and he was a liar, and we all deserve a better life than we were living there.  None of us were happy at the Citadel, we just stayed because we believed him when he told us we had no choice.  I'm not his wife anymore and I never was any different than anyone else, that was a lie too." He got up from his perch on the Rig, and tried not to flinch when his feet touched the burning sand.  "Do you believe me?"

Steven didn't respond, couldn't even meet his eyes.  

Slash didn't expect it would be easy for Steven to reconcile a lifetime of indoctrination with the truth that he suspected the War Boy knew, deep down, but the silent treatment still stung.  

He sighed, and looked over to where the others were hunched over the War Rig's engine.  Slash was practically useless when it came to mechanics, but surely there was something he could do to help.

He started to head over, but stopped in his tracks when something landed in the sand beside him: Steven's pair of heavy leather boots, a godsend to Slash's aching feet.  He turned around to thank Steven, but his friend had already picked up his pipe and ducked around to the other side of the Rig.  

--

"Why didn't you stay with me?" Axl asked, his hushed voice drifting on the bone-dry desert wind.  "We could have survived together, had each other's backs.  Why did you leave?"

It was past time for Izzy to go to sleep and let Axl take over keeping watch, but instead they were sitting side by side in the still-warm sand, staring at the lights in the sky in companionable silence.  Just like old times.

"Resources.  Better odds.  The Citadel had water and I thought that if I played along with their little society for a while, I would come out ahead in the end."

"That's what you told me then, too... Your choice didn't exactly pay off for you, did it?"

Izzy clenched his jaw, swallowing the urge to snap at Axl's bluntness.

"... I thought it would be nice, that it would be the next best thing to what it was like before.  I thought the Citadel would be civilized.  I was wrong."

"What happened, Izzy?"  Axl turned to look at him when he didn't get a response.  Izzy could feel him eyeing the scars on his face, and wished he hadn't left his bandana in the Rig.  "Why the fuck won't you tell me anything?"

"Why won't you stop asking?"

"I don't know, maybe because I care about you? I care about whatever happened to you while we were apart!  I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, though, you haven't asked me what I've done in the past two thousand days – not even once!"

Izzy kept his eyes pinned on the dark horizon.  

"For fuck's sake, you're going to have to tell me eventually."  Silence. "Fine."  Axl got up and brushed the sand off his clothes.  "Why don't you just get some sleep, Izzy."  

Izzy didn't move, but he could hear Axl walking around to the other side of the Rig, and climbing up into the turret.  Stubbornly, he waited a few minutes before rising to his feet, climbing into the cab, and sitting down as if he was about to drive, with his eyes on the windshield and his hands on the wheel.  

"Why won't you tell him?"

Izzy jumped at the whispered voice.  He turned to see Slash, wide awake and staring at him, his eyes glittering black behind his hair.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I remember the first time I saw your scars," Slash told him, ignoring Izzy's attempts to signal that he absolutely did not want to talk about it.

Izzy remembered too, and it was far from one of his fondest memories.  The Organic had just released him the day after the accident, and Izzy was still in a haze of pain when Immortan Joe summoned him to one of his chambers at the top of the tower.

Apparently, Joe just couldn't wait another minute to explain to Izzy in great detail what a disappointment he was.   He sat on a cushioned throne with his wives gracefully positioned at his feet, and recited a speech that Izzy had heard a dozen times before – though usually not directed at him.  Blah, blah, "mediocre," blah, blah, "not worthy to call himself a follower of the V8..."

The performance culminated when Joe informed Izzy that he would no longer hold the honorable position of his wives' personal guard.  The Immortan could no longer trust someone so pathetic and disgraceful with their safety.

Izzy grinned at the irony.  The scar on his face flexed, and Slash flinched.  Immortan Joe laughed and took Slash's face into his hand so that he couldn't look away.

"Hideous, isn't it?  Unlike you, my Desire, perfect in every way..." Slash had to stretch as Joe lifted his jaw higher, putting his body on display.  "He may be a full life, but he's damaged, just like all the others.  Even if he is chosen for the halls of Valhalla, he will never be as flawless as you.  Do not be afraid, my Desire, for the Imperator is unworthy of your fear."

"I'm not afraid."

"Of course not, you're under my protection, after all..." The Immortan kept talking but all Izzy could remember was the way that Slash stared at him dead in the eye, his gaze darkened with an emotion that Izzy couldn't quite pinpoint.

At this point, Slash had only been at the Citadel for a hundred, maybe two hundred days, and even though Izzy was around the wives almost every day, he still felt like he didn't really know the newest addition to Joe's treasure vault.  Slash was quiet and withdrawn, even from the other wives.  He didn't talk about his life before Joe imprisoned him, but he must have been one of the more fortunate survivors, because he wasn't dazzled by the wive's luxurious lifestyle for even a second.  Instead, he focused all his energy on fighting Joe with tooth and nail.

In the Immortan's eyes, Slash's wildness only increased his appeal, and fueled Joe's desire to tame his prize – turning tempestuous Slash into the the object of his Desire. Izzy could tell that Slash was smart, he quickly learned how to choose his battles without fully giving in.  But what he didn't realize was that Slash's observant gaze was so often turned towards him, silently evaluating a potential enemy or ally.  

In the present, Slash was giving him the exact same stare.  Wide-eyed and piercing, as intense as the sun but as dark as night.

"I was jealous," he told Izzy with complete conviction, as if that was the only sensible reaction to fresh, disfiguring burn scars.  "I wanted your scars, so that Joe would only look at me the way he looked at you then.  You're lucky, you know?"

--

By the next morning, the past was forgotten – or at least, Izzy, Axl, and Slash collectively decided not to bring it up again.  There were more pressing matters, plans to be drawn and decisions to be made.  Just about nothing in the past 24 hours had gone the way Izzy imagined it would: First they took on a stowaway War Boy, then the deal with the Buzzards fell through, and now they found themselves aimless in the middle of the Wasteland with only another day's worth of guzzoline.

Ahead of them – barren desert, uncharted wastes, and a seemingly infinite expanse of lifeless salt flats.  And behind them – as Axl helpfully pointed out – fresh water, green plants, and a veritable fortress.  

And a War Party, did he forget about the War Party?  God, maybe Axl really was mad, suggesting that they go back the way they came and face Immortan Joe and his lackeys head on.  Or maybe, Izzy wondered, they were all mad for agreeing to go along with his plan.  

As they prepared the War Rig for a very hard day's ride, Slash approached Izzy in private.

"Look... Stradlin.  I know this wasn't what you planned.  I'm sorry that you and Axl didn't get to make a clean getaway and put this hell behind you,  I really am.  But... Thank you."

"Thank me if we survive tomorrow," Izzy replied.  Maybe he was trying to sound gruff and indifferent, but he and Slash both knew the Citadel’s ghosts far too well to believe it.

--

The Gigahorse was gaining on the War Rig fast, its monstrous tires bumping against the rear of the truck like a dog trying to mount a bitch, but neither Slash nor Duff payed the beast any attention.

Slash couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dark red stain on Duff's bandaged chest.  It was growing – not like a seed, but like a wildfire, fast and merciless and deadly.  He didn't know that it was still possible to feel like the world was ending, but now he thought that the emptiness in his chest, the cold heartbreak and furious hopelessness – this must be how people before felt when the world died.  

Duff's fingertips touched Slash's chin and gently tilted his head up.  Slash tore his eyes away from the bleeding wound to meet Duff's gaze.

"Slash, it's okay.  It's all going to be fine." He took a labored breath. "Just... Remember me, alright?"  

He was smiling, like he really, truly believed that everything would work out, even as he dropped his hands from Slash's face to pick up their last exploding lance and a half-gallon of guzzoline.  

"No, Duff, please don't – " Don't go, don't leave me... The words died on Slash's tongue.  It was hard to beg for mercy when he had long since forgone the belief that the Wasteland was capable of giving any.

Duff though, he believed.  Maybe that was Slash's fault, or maybe it was something ingrained in Duff's soul from birth, almost a half-lifetime ago, but he believed he had a purpose, that he could put all the misery at the Citadel to an end, that he could help Slash to start his new life, that he could put an end to his own body's slow decay.

Duff took his last look at Slash's dust-streaked, grief-struck face – and then jumped.

At that moment, Slash wouldn't have noticed if the sun fell out of the sky.  He didn't move or even breathe as the Gigahorse blossomed into a mass of blazing orange petals that forced apart its metal hull and consumed Duff and Immortan Joe alike.  

Slash stared as the wreckage shrank away in the wake of the War Rig.  Only a rising column of heavy black smoke was still visible when Axl reached a hand to his shoulder and gently guided him back to the cab.  

--

They had to stop the Rig to collect Joe's body, knowing that they couldn't claim to have killed the Immortan, the undying, a god among men without proof.  Steven jumped off the Rig before it fully stopped and took off running to see the corpse of a man he once worshipped with his own eyes.  Slash moved to follow, but Axl blocked him and gave Izzy a pointed look.

For once, Izzy conceded without a fight.  He wrapped an arm around Slash's shoulder and guided him back to his seat.

"Slash, you need to rest.  Steven and Axl will take care of it."  

Satisfied that Izzy would look after Slash, who was obviously in shock, Axl turned to follow after Steven, gravel and charred bits of metal crunching beneath his feet.

Steven stared into the gruesome wreckage, quieter than Axl had ever seen him and looking like he couldn't decide whether he'd rather run away from the pale corpse, or beat it with a lug wrench.  Axl couldn't blame him, just the knowledge that the man had hurt Izzy for years was enough to make him want to spit down his ruptured esophagus.  In the end though, exhaustion won over and they hauled the mangled body back to the War Rig without any additional desecration.  

The rest of the wreck was... not salvageable.  The Gigahorse might have been Joe's pride and glory when he was alive, but now it was no more than a heap of charred steel, a grim warning to all those who pass.  

And as for Duff... There would be no gravedigging in the hard-packed clay, but Axl didn't think Duff would want to be buried in the toxic soil anyway.  A mound of rocks would suffice instead, a tribute that Axl hoped would last for the rest of the lifetime Duff deserved.

When they finally climbed back into the cab of the Rig, Axl twisted around and reached into the backseat to press a dirty lock and chain into Slash's hands.  

--

"Izzy... you have a responsibility for these people."

"Responsibility? I don't owe them shit.  I was as much a prisoner at the Citadel as any of them, I'm not going back and if they have any sense they won't either."

"The water at the Citadel is too important to abandon.  You have to make sure that no one else tries to do what Immortan Joe did, to hoard the water and use it to own people instead of helping them."

"Didn't realize that spending two thousand days on your own would make you care so much about the common good."

Axl turned away with a grimace. "You don't know what I've been doing since you left."  He tried not to let it sound like an accusation, but Izzy got the message anyway.

“The kids are going to need you,” he added, still looking at the horizon instead of Izzy. “I mean, Slash is pregnant for fuck’s sake. You’re not just going to drop him off to deal with all the ghosts in that hellhole alone, are you? Especially after...” He glanced at the figure curled under his old leather jacket in the rearview mirror, making sure that Slash was still sleeping like the dead in the backseat.

"You're right.  Again."  Izzy sighed.  "Fine. I'll stay at the Citadel, for a little while."

"Good."  Axl rested a reassuring hand on Izzy's arm.  "I'll go with you, alright?  I'll help you do what you need to do, and then we can leave and never look back."

--

Slash stood on the carved outcrop jutting out from the tallest tower in the Citadel.  His skin was tanned, his hair was wild, and a steel chain with a broken lock was twisted into the stained cloth at his waist.  Above his head, the skull edifice was scarred by a jagged gash, no longer a monument to the Immortan's false glory.  Below his feet, fresh, cold water churned impatiently in the irrigation channels, desperate to be released.  

Steven stood behind him, a bit battered, but the encouraging grin on his face was no worse for wear.  On his other side, Izzy surveyed the scene below, and a few steps deeper in the shadows Axl lurked impatiently, trying not to let on his anticipation.

The crowd of formerly-Wretched roared when Slash stepped forward and rested his hands on the levers, their shouts echoing between the towers.  It felt like the largest crowd of people that Slash had seen in his life, and every one of them was watching him.  For a moment, he wondered if Duff would be proud – but Slash didn't feel proud, he felt like his knees might buckle.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.  Fuck victory speeches, he just wanted everyone to get the water they deserved.  He thrust the levers forward, and listened to the water as it burst from the pipes and rained down to the ground, a thunderous cascade almost as loud as the overwhelming relief ringing in his ears. 

----

[ellewritesathing]

Infernal  - VI

Summary: In your sleepy little town of Greendale, nothing ever slept for long. And ever since October, everything felt like it was waking up. Everything except for you, that is. One teensy trip to Hell (and an infuriatingly cute guy) later and suddenly you felt wide awake.

Word-count: 3.7k+

Masterlist Prev. | Part 6

A/N: so i just wanted to thank you guys for the support you’ve given Infernal!! it really makes my day to see you reading and getting feedback is just 💓💓 anyway this is the last part for this series until the next season comes out, but i have a few caliban wips. should i start posting those and tagging you in them?? thanks again and i hope you like this!!

Light streamed through the blinds when you woke up, landing softly on your covers and gently covering Caliban’s face. He’d never looked so calm when he was awake; always putting on a show, whether it was for you and your friends or for the courts of hell. Look at me, his face screamed when he was awake, I don’t care. I am in control.

Now it was silent. Dreamy. 

You reached out a slow hand and moved some blonde curls out his face, letting it rest on his chest when you were done. Smiling to yourself, you thought about how absolutely mundane this morning was. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. You wouldn’t change a thing. 

“I have the strangest sensation of being watched,” Caliban murmured as he stretched out next to you. His arms extended overhead and you watched how Harvey’s too-short hoodie crept up to his elbows. When you looked at his face, it featured a barely contained teasing grin. 

“Well, we’ll have to get that sorted out right away,” you said as Caliban rolled his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow to face you. Your hand moved from his chest to the side of his neck, thumb tracing his jaw. “Tell me, sir, what did the perpetrator look like?” 

“Beautiful.” 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, careful not to crash into you or get too tangled up as your hands rose to the sides of his face. His laugh tickled your face. It made your heart beat a mile a minute. 

You pulled away ever so slightly to look in his eyes. Breath caught in your throat as you asked, “Don’t go back to Hell.” 

Now his face said he was confused, something that he didn’t feel very often. Caliban sighed and rolled back to his side of the bed, slipping through your fingers to stare up at the ceiling with a half-open fist resting on his forehead. 

“I just mean-” you slid closer, getting up to your forearm to face him. You lifted your hand to his chest but your palm hung millimeters above it. Unsure fingers tapped at the air. “For one day, stay here. Sabrina won the challenges, right? So there’s no real rush and I- I could show you what it’s like to be human for a day. And you could-” 

Caliban took his fist off his forehead and wrapped his hand around yours, holding it to his chest as he took a breath. His eyes moved from the ceiling to you. Your heart stopped. “I’m not going outside looking like this.” 

“Deal. There’s a Target like ten minutes away and you can pick out whatever you want,” you said. Before he could argue, you turned and started climbing out of bed. “What do you want for breakfast?” 

Caliban looked at you with equal parts amusement and bewilderment before shaking his head and moving to his feet. “Surprise me.” 

You reached out a hand to lead him to the kitchen, but stood still in front of the door, shoulders tense as you turned to face Caliban. “I should warn you,” you said, looking at the spot between his eyebrows. Apparently, people couldn’t tell you weren’t making eye contact if you looked there. “My dad can be a little … much. Lilith said he has something like the cunning, but I think it’s more like early-onset dementia. He means well, he just- he gets a little confused.” 

Caliban’s jaw clenched as you spoke and you watched him make a conscious effort to relax it. In the most controlled voice you’d heard, he asked, “And does he hurt you when he gets confused?” 

You couldn’t even look at the spot between his eyebrows. Coward. “He doesn’t mean to. He just-” 

“That night you had a bruise on your arm, that was him?” 

“You remember that?” 

There was something fiery in him when you looked at Caliban again, slithering just below the surface. You cupped his face and drew his eyes off the door and back to you. His skin was hot to the touch. 

“He needs help. You can’t hurt him,” you said. He was going to say something biting so you talked over him. “Please, just for today, let it go.” 

Silence. His jaw clenched. 

One. 

If looks could kill, your door would be nothing but a pile of splinters and you would be dust. 

Two. 

“Just for today,” he conceded.

You held up a pinky and all that anger faded into amusement. He even laughed when you picked up his hand and forcibly intertwined his pinky with your own. 

“This means that I get to keep your pinky in a jar if you break your promise,” you said, sounding far too serious for someone making a pinky promise before nine o’clock in the morning. 

“Is that another promise?” Caliban asked, leaning down slightly. 

Still, after everything that had happened, the action made you nervous. In a (probably failed) effort to seem cool and unaffected, you dropped his hand and turned to open the door. As soon as you did, the smell of pancakes hit you in the face like a ton of bricks. Your dad was awake, and he probably wouldn’t remember the past few days. Would that make this easier or harder to explain? 

Too busy thinking to come up with clever and endearing things to tell Caliban about your house as you wandered your way to the kitchen, the two of you walked in silence while you absentmindedly gripped his hand. 

‘Silence’ wasn’t really the best word to describe it because, although neither of you were talking, the house was filled up by your dad’s music. When you got closer, you could even hear him singing along as he flipped pancakes. 

“Dad?” you asked hesitantly as you rounded the corner to the kitchen. The batter sizzled uncertainly as he looked up at you. All of the carefree happiness drained from his face when his eyes landed on Caliban. “Dad, this is-”

“That a monster should be such a natural.” His voice wasn’t quite as venomous as the last time you heard him speak, but it was icy. “Caliban, son of the witch-hag Sycorax. Native son of the-” 

“Dad, no.” You let go of Caliban’s hand to take a step closer, putting one hand on your dad’s and using the other to try and pry the angry spatula from his hand. “Caliban is a friend. He-” 

“O, it is monstrous, monstrous: Methought the billows spoke and told me of it-” Your dad broke eye-contact with Caliban to stare holes in your soul. He whispered to you like a child trapped in a horror movie, “The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder - that deep and dreadful organ-pipe-”

“Dad-” 

“Be not afeard. This isle is full of noises,” Caliban said. His voice was almost as gentle as it was when he showed you how to conjure light, and he walked closer very slowly and carefully. “Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices that, if I then had waked after long sleep-” He held out his hand, palm up, like someone would to frightened animal “-Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me, that when I waked I cried to dream again.”

Your dad blinked once, twice. He looked at you. He looked at Caliban. He looked at Caliban’s hand. 

“Oh, crap, that one’s burnt!” He jumped out of your grip to shut off the stove and scrape out the burnt batter before something caught alight. 

Caliban held onto your shoulders in an effort to comfort you as you stared at your dad. No matter how often it happened, you still couldn’t understand what made him like this. One second he was making pancakes, the next he was cursing you in Elizabethan tongue, and then he was making pancakes again. 

“So let me guess,” your dad said with a wry smile as he turned back to the two of you, pan successfully scraped clean. “Long lost cousin of Sabrina’s-” he pointed the spatula harmlessly at Caliban and continued to the stove “-And you’re working on a … History project? Fell asleep at the desk?” 

“You’ve always been a good guesser,” you said through gritted teeth. 

Your dad laughed as he poured the next lot of batter in the pan. “Chin up, Y/N, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. There’s some pancakes over there and the syrup’s in the fridge.” He smiled over your head at Caliban. “Help yourselves.” 

“Thank you,” Caliban said with a thin smile. 

--- 

You sat in the car for five minutes, tinkering with the seat and mirror settings while Caliban sat politely in the passenger seat. Never did you imagine using the words ‘Caliban’ and ‘polite’ in a sentence without the words ‘is not’ sandwiched between them, but a lot of things had changed since then. Sighing, you sank back into your seat and looked over. 

Polite, amused. 

“Okay, you need to put your seatbelt on before we start moving,” you said. Caliban arched an eyebrow at you. “I’m being serious. Belt on or you can stay in Harvey’s old clothes the whole day.”

“Are you that bad of a driver or did you forget that I’m nigh-indestructible?” Caliban asked, making you roll your eyes. 

“Wanna find out exactly how indestructible you are?” you asked, leaning over the armrest and getting distractingly close to him. 

Caliban’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “Do you want to try?” 

“Nope!” 

You yanked the seatbelt forward and kept it with you as you flipped back into your side of the car, clicking it into the socket when you could breathe again. You shot him a grin and he shot you a glare. Oh well.

Switching on the engine, you tried to string together a coherent thought. “So this car is old - older than me, probably older than you - so she’s a little sensitive. She’s also a piece of crap who’s been stuck on the same cassette since I learned to talk,” you told him as you rolled out of the driveway. “The air con’s busted. There’s a spring sticking out of the backseat. Is that a cloud? We can only turn right if it starts raining.” 

Caliban let out a laugh next to you, craning his head to try and spot the cloud. “Why don’t you just get another car?” 

“Because she’s part of the family.” You smacked the dashboard twice. “Aren’t you, Sugar?” 

The speakers started blasting Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now in response and it was the first time you’d ever seen Caliban look truly startled, even if it was just in your peripheral vision. It made you smile the whole way to Target. 

Despite your worries, finding Caliban something to wear was pretty easy, even if you had to coerce him into picking out a jacket. It didn’t take long for something to burst your bubble though: you heard Harvey laughing somewhere nearby. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grabbing Caliban’s arm. You pointed over some shelves to where Harvey and Theo were looking at graphic socks. “Shit. Scatter!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Scatter! I-” You shoved the clothes into Caliban’s arms. “Go try these on. Don’t come out until I come to find you.” 

“Don’t you think this is a bit of an over-” 

“No!”

You pushed him back towards the changing rooms and got ready to confront Harvey and Theo when Caliban’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you back with him. You didn’t argue until he latched the door. 

“Don’t know how to get dressed by yourself?” you asked in a low voice. 

“If I said yes, would you show me?” Caliban asked, lifting the corners of his mouth. He sighed before lifting Harvey’s old sweatshirt over his head. “I didn’t think you wanted to explain all this to your friends. Hence the - uh, what was the word you used - scattering?” 

You bit your cheek as you weighed your options. Deciding it would be easier to think without looking at Caliban’s chest, you handed him a shirt. You focused on Caliban’s hands as he buttoned up the shirt, long and dainty-looking as he worked his way up the fabric slowly. 

And then there weren’t any buttons left, just Caliban watching you watching him. It made your heart stop. Again. 

“Right, all done?” you asked, moving your things so you could stand up. You became intimately aware of how small these changing rooms were. 

“Unless you want to stay for the pants part?” Caliban asked. 

“I think I’ll take my chances with Harvey and Theo, thanks,” you said and carefully stepped around him to get to the door.

While Caliban was busy, you did some impulse buying and tried to catch your breath. Thankfully, Harvey and Theo seemed to have left. The whole situation left you feeling conflicted; all you wanted was to tell them about Lilith and Caliban but you were scared that they wouldn’t understand. 

When Sabrina finally told you all about her being a witch … to say it didn’t go over well was an understatement. When you finally told them, would it go over any better?

After getting Caliban something to wear and something to eat, you took him to a parking lot of a long-abandoned strip mall. Still debating whether this was a good idea or not, you took a breath and turned in your seat to face him. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said carefully, resting your hands on the gearshift. “Do you want to learn to drive?” 

“That depends. Am I going to learn in this car?” 

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the front, the beginning of a biting comment coming out of your mouth before Caliban laughed and leaned over, placing his hands over yours on the ignition. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, stifling the rest of his laughter. “I’d be honored if you’d teach me to drive.” You didn’t say anything. He leaned in closer. “In this car.”

You turned your head to look at him, underestimating just how much he leaned in. Almost nose to nose, you said, “Say please.” 

“Please?” 

“Like you mean it.” 

A smile sparked on his lips. “Would you, please, teach me how to drive?” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you said dryly, unlocking the doors and stepping out while Caliban shook his head and did the same. 

Teaching Caliban was just as infuriating as you expected; he sped up when you said he couldn’t, he rode out the clutch, but - worst of all - he didn’t appreciate the background noise of the broken mixtape. Round and round the old parking lot he went, muttering swears and curses all the while. 

“Okay- okay, babe, you need to stop.” You put your hand on the gearshift, over his tight white knuckles. He let out a heated breath as he shut the car off. “You’re sticking the shift from second to third. Sugar’s old, remember? You need to be more gentle.” 

“I’m being plenty gentle.” 

“You’re definitely being plenty something,” you said. He didn’t appreciate the joke. “Take a breath. Let’s try again.” 

Caliban didn’t say anything as he started the car up again, but he did everything you told him when you told him to do it. With your hand guiding him, he didn’t stall for the first time in over an hour and he only swore once (at a pigeon, but in his defense it really was stopped in the middle of nowhere). 

Finally, Caliban parked the car squarely in the middle of four spots and turned to face you, much like you had some time ago but without propping up any legs. “We’ve been doing human things the whole day,” he said. “I’d like to add something to the itinerary.” 

“Oh, would you now?”

“Do you trust me to take you there?” Caliban asked, ignoring your teasing. 

“You mean, like, letting you drive on the road?” you asked. “Where the other people drive?” 

“Unless you’d like to teleport there,” Caliban offered. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Okay, you can drive but you have to listen to me exactly like you did just now. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

Bad music blared over the speakers as Caliban drove, windows down, to his mystery location. You pretended not to notice whenever he damn near stalled the car, he pretended not to notice whenever you messed up the words to the music, and you both pretended not to notice how right it felt to have your hands intertwined. 

It was absolutely mundane. A drive for over-eager teens with nothing better to do. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

Caliban turned down a gravelly road that you were sure led to private property, but you didn’t mention it. He seemed very sure of himself in your piece of crap car. Even as he rolled to a stop and the car wheezed its way to sleep, he looked like he was made for this moment. 

“So is the part where you make me dig my own grave?” you asked, moving to face him and lifting your hand from his to the side of his neck. “Because you should know that I’d rather kill myself than do manual labor.” 

Caliban let out a laugh as he mirrored your movements, except his hand lifted to his mouth, thumb running across his lower lip. “No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for a while longer, love.” 

You weren’t entirely sure how to answer that one, so you took a breath and looked down at the gearshift. “So what exactly is the plan?” 

“Swimming,” Caliban answered. He unbuckled his seatbelt before you could ask more questions - of which you had plenty - and got out of the car. 

You had to rush to keep up, slowing your jog once you could grab his hand. “Woah, slow down. Swimming? In a Greendale Lake?” 

“Is that a problem?” 

“Uh, yeah. For starters, it’s January.” 

“I can cast a spell to keep you warm.” 

“You got a spell to protect me from Hep A?” 

Instead of answering, Caliban rolled his eyes and lifted his hand, palm up, in front of you. He nodded to it when you didn’t answer him. “Do you trust me?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked at his hand. Not everything had to be a show of how tough you were, and you got the feeling that Caliban already knew how tough that was. You put your hand in his, trying your best to memorize the changes in his face when you did. 

The two of you walked in silence, joined at the fingertips, until Caliban slowed down at the mouth of a cave and you made a disapproving noise. You held up your other hand when he looked at you, to show that you were trusting and not criticizing. At least not externally.

The cave wasn’t anything like the one you’d found Medusa in, nor was it like any of the ones you and Harvey played around when you were kids. It was smooth and dark, with air far less musty than you expected. Water was running somewhere and Caliban led you to the spot where it ended. A small, pitch dark rock pool. 

Then Caliban let go of your hand and started taking off his brand new shirt.

“Okay, what are you doing now?” you asked. 

“Swimming,” Caliban said without any hesitation. “Do you not remember?” 

“I-” You broke off. He said you were going swimming, did you think he just magically had a swimsuit in your size hiding out in this cave? You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not taking off my underwear.” 

“It’s going to an awfully uncomfortable drive home,” Caliban said with a devilish smile as he threw the shirt at you. “But whatever you prefer.” 

You stood awkwardly as he finished undressing and slid into the pool. He was considerate enough to turn around after your first complaint and then you begrudgingly took off your layers. At least it was dark enough in here that he couldn’t see you blush. 

Dipping in your toes, you pulled away with a tiny shriek. “It’s fucking freezing!” 

Caliban laughed as he waded around to look up at you. It was unnerving, though he didn’t mean it to be. “It’s going to be cold for the first few seconds. Diving headfirst is the best way to do it.” 

“Yeah, if what you’re trying to do is get a concussion.” 

“Just get in,” Caliban said slowly, “And it’ll get better after that. I’ll warm you up if it doesn’t.” 

“No way in Hell. And I mean that with a capital H,” you said, refolding your arms over your chest. “The only way I’m getting in there is if you drag me.” 

Caliban’s head tilted to the side for a second before straightening up as he waded closer to you. When he was right in front of you, the water only came up to his naval, but he gestured for you to lower down to him like he was telling you a secret. In a dangerously low voice, he asked, “What was that again?” 

You blinked back your surprise. “Uh, what was what? That I’m only getting in here if you- Don’t you dare!” 

Before you could run away, Caliban had scooped you up and twirled you into the icy water. But you couldn’t focus on the cold when everything that he touched was on fire. And when the screaming and splashing and laughing died down, it was just you and Caliban alone in the dark. Nose to nose. Holding your arms to his chest. Too afraid to breathe and mess up the moment. 

Your heart was trying to break out your ribcage. 

“I think you were right,” you whispered. “Diving in headfirst is the best way to do it.”

Caliban’s heart was slow and steady, but you could swear it skipped a beat right there.

“You’re sure about that?” he said softly. 

“Without a doubt.”

Tag List:  @caliban-is-my-girl  @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @music-movies  @miss--moose​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby​  @foji2000​  @mschfavngz​  @artaxerxesthegreat​  @thxmagic​  @luquincy  @strawberriesandknives​  @xealia​  @hotmessindisguise​  @olivia-west-allen  @sweetrogers​  @reheated-coffee​  @shelby-x​  @perseny-blog​  @millie-753​  @luneerius​  @shizzybarnaclee​

[eris-builds-a-world]

OC-tober Day 3: Duel

Prompt list by @oc-growth-and-development​ 

Duel between Ever (she/her) and Kori (he/him). They’re both about 17 years old. Futuristic setting, where they are part of an elite mission on a distant planet. 

Warnings for violence against both characters, swearing, and use of weapons.

***

“Fight me!” Ever screamed, making another lunge at the boy in front of her. 

Kori backed away, panic rising in his circuits. Ever clearly wasn’t giving up on this. The girl had worked herself into a frenzy, and despite his best efforts, Kori couldn’t think of a way to talk her down. 

“What is that going to prove?” he asked, his volume rising louder than intended. He dodged another of her blows, but she responded with a quick kick to his chestplate. “Either you win, and my siblings--” he rocketed back several feet, avoiding a kick to his face “--aren’t very good at designing protective casings. Or I win, because I have literal iron bars for bones! I don’t want to hurt you!” 

The girl didn’t let up at his warnings, but raced toward him for another punch. 

“Coward!” she hollered, her voice cracking. “Cheater!” A flurry of punches, and then her foot slammed down on his boot, sinking him slightly into the ground. Although the air was thick, the sand around them was billowing up from Kori’s earlier propulsion. 

This close, Kori could see pure hatred in Ever’s eyes. Pink and blue strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her forehead, and Kori tried not to look at the spit forming around her mouth. 

“You cheat death and leave the rest of us to starve!” Kori thought her shouting was unnecessary, as they were standing face to face, but she continued, her contempt lifting up to the skies. “You will never be a person, you’re nothing but scrap metal. You should have stayed six feet under like you belong!” 

As gingerly as he could, Kori caught her hands in his own, keeping her from throwing more blows. She yanked back, but his grip held firm. He thought about lifting her by her hands and flying them back to base as they were. The purple bruises around her wrists gave him second thoughts, though. He worried her earlier punches may have caused broken bones, and lifting her like this might lead to more damage. 

His indecision gave her the opening she needed. With all her might she kicked at his knee, trying to bend it backwards. Kori stumbled, releasing his grip, and in the time it took to blink, the girl had pulled a knife out of who-knows-where and was jabbing it at his face. 

Kori threw a hand up in defense and soon found it punctured, the end of the knife sticking through his hand. He was sure he saw Ever’s lips curl in satisfaction. A quick assessment told him the hydraulics in his hand would need to be repaired.

The next minute was a flurry of sand and dirt, Ever continuing her attacks and Kori deflecting. When Kori had Ever soundly knocked to the ground, he flew into the air, getting more distance between them. But when the dust settled, she was no longer lying in the sand as he expected. 

A flash of blue hair ducked behind their dune buggy, and Kori dodged away before a taser blast made impact with his midsection. He cautiously descended so he wouldn’t have to shout as loud. 

“This is pointless,” he told her. “Isn’t it good? Shouldn’t families be reunited if they can? I’m not a machine. Or...I mean, I am, but I’m not replacing a person. I just have...prosthetics.” He gestured to her and the empty supply route they had been traveling along. “You’re just angry at everything, and you’re getting yourself hurt.” 

Several taser blasts shot toward him. He had to admire her aim, because despite his trajectory tracking, she managed to clip his hip. For a moment, his world went dark and he plummeted to meet the ground. When he regained his sight, Ever was standing on his wrists, her rifle pointed at his head. 

“Reunited?” The word dripped like poison. “Like anyone cares about reuniting families if there’s no money in it. I think I have a right to be angry!” Now the rifle was at his throat. “No one seemed to care about reuniting families when they decided my land was expendable! Where were all the medical teams and body upgrades for us? News flash, there are still actual people planet-side, trying to survive wars.” 

Some quick math told him yes, he could flip Ever off of him before she took her next shot. Her rant continued, and he waited for the best timing. 

“But you?! You beef it and everyone rushes to mop you up and turn you into a machine. No one deserves to be immortal, least of all some pampered satellite bastard like you!” 

Kori stiffened at that. The idea that his life had any correlation to the word pampered was laughable. He hadn’t known what her life was like on Earth, so yeah, he didn’t blame her for going ballistic. But she clearly had no idea what his life was like either. He figured blowing off some steam wasn’t a bad idea after all. 

“Fine, you want to do this?” he snarled back, trying his best to make his face plates look aggressive. “No one’s here to stop us. If you’re that angry, hit me like you mean it.” And he flung her into the air. 

Her rifle shot went wide, but she kept a tight grip on the firearm while she landed unsteadily on her feet. 

Kori (mostly) no longer held back, trading blow for blow, and trying to knock the rifle from her arms when he had the chance. Her knife made a comeback, and he wasn’t even sure where she was keeping that! In a matter of minutes, scorch marks spattered the ground. Kori propelled into the air just to get a break from her rage, but she latched on, and soon they were both several stories in the air. Shit, he didn’t want to accidentally drop her and kill her. 

But she didn’t seem phased by the risk of falling, and the close proximity only fueled her on, giving her a chance to try to stab her knife under his shoulder blade. 

As the two came crashing down to the ground, Kori made a mental note to apologize to her later for the likelihood of giving her more broken bones. The fall only mildly slowed her frenzy, and she was back on him in a flash. She was pulling at ears and joints, anything she could find purchase on. Kori was certain if she found a way inside his casing, she would dismantle him then and there. 

So he punched her. Really punched her, and she fell several feet back. The sand dug into her limbs and face, but when they locked eyes, Kori saw her grinning wildly. Like, an actual smile. Which would have been amazing if it wasn’t so terrifying. 

Ever lunging back at her opponent, and Kori found his shoulder trapped in a hold as Ever twisted his arm around her own arm and leg. In her pained state, she put all her strength into pulling his shoulder apart; which she was quickly succeeding at. Kori could feel the metal arm separating from its socket, wires stretched to their limit and fraying. He was going to lose his arm, not to an alien invasion, but to an upset teammate. 

“Okay, ow. Ow!” Kori scrambled to push her off from him, but she wasn’t relenting. “Stop already! Ow!” Kori squealed. 

And then she let go. 

They sat on the ground staring at each other. Kori counted 11 agonizing seconds. Ever’s sweat had turned the sand on her body into mud, which was caked on her clothes and certainly getting trapped in the open wounds she had received. Kori’s hand was leaking an undisclosed fluid. 

“That really hurt? You weren’t just faking?” Ever asked. Kori noticed her arm was shaking, though her fist tightened its grip on her knife.

“Duh, you were trying to rip my arm off!” 

Ever huffed. “Nearly succeeded too, if you weren’t such a baby.” She was quiet for a beat. Then she let out a war cry loud enough Kori was certain homebase could hear it. As her voice quieted, Kori thought she was actually laughing. 

“Thanks, bolts-for-brains. I needed that. You would think if you’re supposed to be some superweapon, they would make you out of thicker stuff. Remind me not to depend on you for life-and-death situations.”

For awhile, the only sound was her labored breathing and a metallic grinding, like gears out of synch. 

“I guess we should...head back to camp?” Kori suggested. Ever nodded. He noted that the girl made no attempt to stand up. 

“If you need, I could carry you,” he offered. 

“Hell no.” She climbed to her feet, trying and failing to hide a grimace. “Though I guess if you use your rocket boots, I won’t try to stab you if we...hold onto each other and fly back. It might make you actually useful for once.” 

“About that,” Kori countered. “You cut the fuel line when you were stabbing my leg. Rocket engines are out of commission.” 

“Ha!” Ever shouted. “I’m proved right once again! You heard it here, sand scum, robots are completely useless!” 

And so they began the tedious journey back. Kori eyed his human companion. Her hands were...well, “mangled” was the best description Kori could find. He was sure the team would put her in double casts for the foreseeable future. And Kori didn’t even want to think about what Zed would do when he saw Kori’s shoulder...and fuel line...and shielding...and hand. 

Stealing another glance at Ever, he was pretty sure she walked with a proud swagger after the damage she had done to him. Or maybe that was just a limp.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Blood and Rain (Good Omens)

@whumptober2020 - Using Prompt 9 “For the Greater Good” and Prompt 30 “Now Where Did That Come From.” CW for injuries and cliffhanger ending.

The Bentley careened off the road into a ditch, narrowly avoiding the blast of lightning that grounded itself on the asphalt.

Aziraphale and Crowley both summoned as many miracles as they could in the three seconds before the front of the vintage car hit the tree. The windscreen shattered - branches speared in at driver and passenger. Crowley’s forehead hit the steering wheel, but though the impact rattled him, he’d managed to prevent any damage to his corporation.

“Are you--” Crowley started, but was cut off by a crash of thunder. Not from the bolt that had almost hit them, but from the next, and the next.

“They aren’t giving up,” Aziraphale called, as flashes of blue-white light crept closer and closer. “We’ll have to run.”

“Run?” Crowley glanced behind them. He tried to keep his tone calm, but behind his glasses his eyes were wide and serpentine. “You think we’ll be safer running through a field than in a car?”

“Do you believe this is a mundane storm?” Hailstones began to pound the roof of the car, shaking it. One left a dent so deep they could see it from the inside.

“I was...really hoping,” Crowley grumbled, even as he threw open the door and scrambled out. Despite the sting of the hail and rain, he paused for a quick glance at the front end of the Bentley - the tree had dented the front, but not crumpled it. The engine was probably intact. He lay a hand on the battered roof and whispered, “We’ll come back for you,” before pushing through the bushes and into the field beyond.

Rain and cold sliced his skin as he raced through the knee-high grass, catching up to Aziraphale. Already the angel was puffing and struggling, right hand pressed to his side.

“We need...someplace to hide!” Aziraphale shouted over the rising storm, wind catching his words and tearing them away.

“Where?” Crowley took the angel’s left hand, pulling him onward. “A church?”

“Probably not.” Aziraphale’s voice was lost in the next lightning strike, a blinding explosion far too close for comfort, showering them with mud and shattered rock. At least the hail seemed to have died. Crowley tugged harder, trying to speed Aziraphale up. “Feels more...like my side...than yours…” the angel gasped.

“Not your side,” Crowley snarled. “We have our own side.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

Crowley turned back in time to see the weak smile - but he also saw how pale Aziraphale’s face was, and the dark line above his brow, and the blood dripping just past his eye.

“Aziraphale!” He skidded to a halt in the mud, so abruptly Aziraphale bumped into him with a muffled gasp. “What - your head!”

Blinking in confusion, Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand to swipe at his face, looking at the mix of blood and rain on his fingers. “Oh...oh...the car…”

“Didn’t you protect yourself, you idiot?” Crowley pressed numb fingers to the wound, trying to heal it.

“Well...yes.” Aziraphale gulped and struggled to catch his breath. “Tried to...keep your car...intact at the same time. But...it would appear I...I failed at both.”

Lighting flashed again, searing into the ground ahead of them, then behind. The rain doubled, and hailstones fell once more. One struck the back of Crowley’s hand, another caught Aziraphale on the side of the head.

With a wordless shout, Crowley snapped out his wings, wrapping them both in a feathery embrace, shielding them from the storm. “We have to keep going, Aziraphale,” he mumbled, pulling his angel close.

“Mmmm,” Aziraphale started, the sound lost in the wind and thunder. His left hand clutched at Crowley. “No, my dear. You have to keep going.” Crowley started to growl an objection, but Aziraphale cut him off with a hand to his chest. “Listen, we don’t have much time. You were always better at running and hiding. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quickly, not giving Crowley time to interject, “but I’ll only slow you down. I’ll hold them off, you find a place to hide. Burrow, if you can. That should help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Crowley snarled. He crushed Aziraphale to his chest, wings tight around them. Through the feathers, they could see the flashes of lightning, drawing closer.

Aziraphale grunted in frustration. “Don’t be absurd. I’m the better fighter, Crowley. I’ll handle them, then I’ll come find you.”

“But--”

“There’s no time!” He shoved Crowley, a one-handed push strong enough to send him stumbling back. “Run! Just run!”

Another bolt of lightning and the air filled with the burnt-match scent of sulfur. Power from the sky and the smell of the pits. Strange how Heaven and Hell could be so utterly indistinguishable.

Crowley surged forward, grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels, and kissed him. It was rushed, fumbling, and tasted of blood and rain. The angel had probably bit his lip in the accident. One soft hand pressed against the small of his back, pulling him closer.

When Crowley released him, Aziraphale smiled and patted his arm. “I’ll see you soon, my love. Now, please. Go.”

And though it hurt more than anything he’d ever done, Crowley turned and ran, into the storm and hail and wind. He tucked his wings away and shifted forms - as a serpent he was faster than any human - winding his way through the jungle of grass and hailstones as large as his skull. He could no longer hear the lightning, but he could see it, and feel it, a gut-twisting surge through his stomach as the ground rolled and swelled like an ocean.

In a little more than a minute, he reached the far side of the field. Rearing up, head above the grass, Crowley could see a ditch, a hedgerow, probably some very upset sheep on the other side, looking for shelter. Not ideal, but he was running out of residual heat from his time in human form. A few more minutes and he would succumb to the torpor, but if he could find a burrow first…

Crowley slid along the ditch, looping around more hailstones and torn-off twigs. His back and sides already felt bruised from the icy assault. He flicked his tongue, but of course all he could taste was rain, and mud, and the lingering flavor of Aziraphale’s blood.

He flicked his tongue again.

It didn’t taste right, the blood, too thick, too...much for a bitten lip.

He’d been bleeding from the head.

And gotten out of breath far too quickly, even by Aziraphale’s standards.

And he’d only moved and gestured with one hand, the other clamped tight to his side.

And he’d grunted and gasped whenever Crowley touched him…

Rearing up again, Crowley looked at the hail, the damage it had caused. No chance it had only just restarted. The hail had been falling since the moment the Bentley crashed, and Aziraphale had been shielding them until…

Until he hadn’t had the strength anymore.

Crowley shot back across the grass, moving faster than he ever had before, ignoring cold and rain and pounding hail. In barely half a minute, he could see - up ahead - glowing figures of pure light, at least half a dozen, surrounding one who was pale and dim, kneeling half-collapsed on the ground.

The serpent shot past, no longer a serpent, some unnatural creature of fangs and claws and wings.

He threw himself at the nearest figure, mauling it, teeth sinking into its throat. Then he kicked free and launched towards the next, coiling around it, grabbing at its head with clawed hands while his wings flapped wildly.

Crowley wouldn’t last long. He was no fighter - he was a coward, a trickster, a being that lurked in the shadows. But right now, he had the element of surprise and six thousand years of protective instincts. He would not let them hurt his angel.

By the time the glowing beings had beaten him down and thrown him into the mud, too weak to stand, he’d put three of them out of the fight.

“Glad that’s settled,” one of them growled. “Which do we take?”

The voice wasn’t familiar - nothing about them was familiar. They didn’t quite feel like angels, but they certainly weren’t demons.

“Doesn’t matter,” another said. “Either’s as good as the other. Just grab one before they notice.”

“Take me,” Crowley said immediately, pushing himself up by his arms, crawling forward with teeth bared.

A foot lashed out, kicking him in the jaw. “The other one is less trouble.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder. Aziraphale lay on his side, eyes dazed, mouth moving weakly. His chin was still streaked with blood that he’d coughed up, dripping down to mix with the rain around him. Whatever they’d done to him, he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

Pushing himself up again, Crowley glared at their attackers. “You will take me. If you even touch him, I will fight you until you have to destroy me. And I don’t think you have time for that.”

“But if we take you, you’ll come quietly?”

Crowley nodded.

Glowing fingers grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright. Crowley bit back a shout and shifted the rest of the way to human form. As soon as he’d changed, one of the beings hit him in the stomach, nearly knocking him over again.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale, still in the mud, struggled to rise, half-dazed eyes in a panic. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, so it was something else that ran down his face.

“S’alright,” Crowley said as soothingly as he could, while bright white hands landed on his shoulders. “I know you’ll come for me.”

“Yes!” It was more a squeak, a strangled choking noise. “Wherever you are, I’ll--”

Everything turned white.

Then black.

Then white again.

And Crowley blinked, looking around a hallway that was neither Heaven nor Hell.

--

Sorry for the cliffhanger! I do know the next part, but not sure if I’ll get it out before the end of Whumptober. I’ll see what I can do! Thanks for reading!

[hannahcoursey]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 2

Author: Hannahc56

Word Count: 3,499

Request: The reader who lives in a small town called Wellings in Nebraska, her best friend dies and Sam and Dean go to interview her as FBI agents and she doesn’t believe they’re FBI so she follows them one day and gets caught by the Djinn they’re hunting.

A/N: We get to see a little bit of the readers past here, something that will be talked more in detail about later on. Enjoy!

PART ONE. PART THREE. 

You spent the night tossing and turning, your sheets damp from the sweat that slipped down your back and off your forehead. The dreams you had of Lizzie, the regret that filled your chest since she’d been gone and the stress of trying to put all the pieces together. You shouldn’t have brought her to that bar. Maybe she’d still be at home now if only she’d stayed away from you. You sat up straight in your bed and looked at the clock. The bold red numbers stared back at you, daunting you as the time ticked on, serving as a reminder of just how many things you’ve lost. Time. Your best friend. The people around you. You rubbed at your eyes at an attempt to rid your mind of the thoughts that riddled your mind during the late hours of the night, making sleep impossible. Your guilt left your soul heavy, leaving you without the peace of mind needed to catch some shut eye.

Giving up on the poor attempt to shut your mind off for a few hours, you threw your legs over the side of the bed and walked to the kitchen for some water. Your feet padded against the old hardwood, creaking under your weight. You kept the lights off as you headed for the cups, filling it with ice and water before putting it to your lips. You stood in front of your sink and thought back to the agents. You weren’t even certain you could call them that, but your mind wandered off to them. They were attractive, there was no doubt about it. The taller one seemed kind, while the one who called himself Harrison appeared to be more business minded. He was as suspicious of everything in your apartment as you were about their credibility. You turned and walked to the front door, your paranoia getting the better of you as you reached to make sure it was locked. 

That’s when you saw it. 

You’d cracked open the front window a few inches to let some fresh air in, the slight breeze moving the curtains enough for you to see straight into the parking lot. There, in the mix of a few deserted cars, sat the Impala you’d seen earlier. Carefully, you set your glass of water down on the table by the door and creeped your way back to your bedroom. Once there, you slipped off your pajama top and put on a sweatshirt, dark enough to blend in with the midnight colors in hopes to be discreet. As you moved around your room, the classic car outside roared to life, the silence of the night disturbed along with it, almost as if they’d known they’d been spotted. Quickly, you kicked on some jeans and pulled on the dirty sneakers that laid by the end of your bed and grabbed your car keys. You hurried to the door, your hand reaching for the cool metal of the knob as the engine of the Impala revved slightly, leaving the parking lot. You spilled through the front door and watched as their taillights sat hovering at the entrance of the road for a moment before taking a left onto the road that led out of your complex. Quickening your pace, you sped to your car, ripping open the driver side door and twisting the key in the ignition. Without giving it moment to settle, you tore it into reverse and tried to follow the boys wherever they were going. 

Once you hit the main road, you saw them. They were the only car at the light. You approached slowly, praying that it turned green before you were close enough for them to spot you in their rear-view. The light turned and the Impala rolled into the intersection and down the road. You followed, making sure to keep your distance. The boys, you assumed, were probably already suspicious and knew they had a tail on them but until they acted on it you marched on. They took a right and then another left, effectively leading you towards the outskirts of town. Soon enough, their turn signal flashed, as they pulled off onto the right hand shoulder. You maneuvered around them and shot a daring glance in your rearview. They hadn’t even paid you any mind. Instead, their gaze was focused on the old mill that sat abandoned, set a few miles back from the road. Your mind was going a million miles an hour, a million possibilities racing through your head. Before you could land on one, your foot found the brake and stomped on it hard. You turned in your seat and looked behind you. The mill loomed in the background, the Impala now too far away to see. Only a mere blur of where you knew it sat. 

You pulled off onto the side beside some trees, hoping it would do something to cover you. The thick dark of the night fell over you as you cut the ignition. The sky was hue of blue so deep, it swallowed the dim light of the stars, making it hard for your eyes to adjust to the stark black of the evening. You opened your car door, slowly shutting it behind you as you climbed out. You turned and looked towards the Impala. It was a solid distance away and would take a minute to walk to it, but it was better to be further than be caught. The idea of the two men actually being FBI agents crossed your mind briefly before you swatted it from your mind. There’s no way they’d be driving that and wearing those cheap suits if they were legitimate. You shook the mere thought out of your mind and walked through the grass, leaves crunching underneath your shoes as you went. You kept that in mind. The closer you got, the stealthier you would have to be, and the fallen leaves were doing nothing to aid you in your task. You creeped along, crouching as you quickened your pace towards the Impala. Before reaching it, you froze and looked off toward the mill. Faintly, you could see the two tall men approaching it. Knowing they were far enough out of earshot, you slithered towards the car. You peered inside, the interior a mix of tan and black leathers that looked to be in decent condition. Your eyes scanned the back, and something caught the faint moonshine and reflected back to your eyes. Laying on the floor in the back was a knife so large, it was worthy of being called a machete. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of it. God, what are these guys up to? 

You looked over the car and the men were nowhere to be found. Millions of thoughts ran through your head. Maybe they knew where Lizzie was, maybe they took Lizzie. Your heart pounded so hard it was difficult to hear anything but the pumping in your ears. Maneuvering around the vintage car, you headed for the mill. You didn’t know what these men had in mind or what they were planning, but a feeling in your gut told you it all would trace you back to Lizzie. 

You took small, quick steps, anxiety and adrenaline bubbling within you. The tall shadow of the mill slipped over you as you reached the old wooden exterior. Letting your eyes adjust, you snuck along the side of the building before slipping in through the archway entrance. Now inside, the wind was noticeable as it howled low, slipping between the cracked and shattered windows. 

You scanned the interior. The room was like a long hallway, with what appeared to be stall-like structures lining each side. You stood still and tried to listen for the two men. The silence was almost deafening, only the whistle of the wind and the field outside rustling crossed your senses. Just as you let out a breath, you heard a crash come from down the corridor, just out of sight. You pressed yourself flat against the wall and coward to the corner. Grunting followed along with more crashing erupted, your mind thinking of the worst possible things at once. Then you thought about it. Lizzie. What if Lizzie was down there? What if she was the one the men were coming for? These men were fakes; What was stopping them for being the people to blame for Lizzie’s disappearance. The thought alone of them hurting your best friend was enough to catapult you out of your frozen terror. 

Quickly, you pushed yourself off the wall and headed down the corridor, your fast steps loud and thundering against the barren building. You fought the urge to peer into the stalls beside you as you hurriedly made your way down the hallway. The hairs on the back of your neck stood straight, and for a moment it felt like you were being watched.  

Just as your long strides carried you around the corner, you saw what had caused all of the commotion. The two men, the taller one with the shaggy hair seemingly out of breath, stood overtop of a body covered in tattoos. The girl had long, flowing, brunette hair that now absorbed the thick crimson blood that seeped out of her dying body. Intricate black tattoos made their way up her arms and her neck, all the way up to her face. A part of you felt guilty for being relieved that the woman on the floor wasn’t Lizzie and another part of you ached to find her. You had let hope bubble inside of you that this would be the answer to all of this, and it again, died flat in your chest. Your running had caught their attention and the shorter man had his head turned, now facing your direction. You pinned yourself up against the wall, right out of their view. After a moment, he turned his head back around and spoke in a low voice to the taller man. You let a shaky breath slip through your lips. You had to get out of here, call the cops, something. As you took a step back, your foot landed on something hard. Before you could fully turn to look, a man grabbed your head with both of your hands and you let out a strangled scream that died on your lips. Right as your eyes grew heavy, you noticed the blue of his eyes glow in the dim lighting of the mill. For a second, it almost appeared as if his arm had filled with ink that had come to life, growing and reaching for you. Before you had anytime to react, your world went black. 

—

You woke up, panicked, your face dripping in sweat. You looked around your room, trying to catch your breath. The morning sun slipped in through the curtains and the shadow of the trees outside made a playful shadow along the floor. You wiped your face, dragging the sweat away and looked at the time. It was almost 9 in the morning. You hadn’t slept this long in ages. Just as you reached for your phone, you heard footsteps padding down the hallway of your apartment. Lizzie appeared in the doorway. She wore a band t-shirt, her light hair tied up while her face was twisted in concern at the sight of you. 

“Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” She asked, taking in your sweaty, fear-filled demeanor. You could only sit there, trying to swallow the tears that threatened to rise up your throat and slip from your eyes. She was in front of you, perfectly safe, healthy. You looked away from her and down at your hands. They shook lightly, and you formed them into fists to still them. You cleared your throat and forced a smile.

“J-Just a nightmare, just woke me up.” You said, nodding lightly. Her brow still slightly furrowed, she nodded, half-convinced before turning away. Once she was out of sight, you turned and set your feet on the floor. You scanned your room. The newspapers, reports passed their deadlines and empty coffee cups that usually littered the room were absent. The place was almost spotless. You walked to the small mirror that hung over your dresser and inspected your face. Your dark under eyes were bright and the light pounding that had made permanent residence in your temples had disappeared. You turned on your heel and walked down the hallway, following the sound of the radio playing to the kitchen. Lizzie stood in the corner, pouring a cup of coffee. She turned and placed it on the table for you as she poured herself a cup. She turned and faced you, the coffee cup pulled up to her lips. You leaned down and grabbed the cup, slowly taking a sip. It was the best coffee you’d ever tasted. You set it back down and eyed your best friend. Noticing, she shot you a strange look.

“Y/N, are you alright?” She sat down at the table, still analyzing your behavior, “How bad was that nightmare?” She asked, trying to seem as if she was trying to get to the root of the problem. Nothing made sense. You stood there and rubbed at your eyes before letting out a breath. When you opened them again, her eyes were still locked on yours. 

“How's the coffee, Liz?” You asked, your voice cold. She looked confused before shrugging.

“I mean, it’s fine. Can’t start my day without some caffeine, so anything works.” She let out a nervous laugh. You nodded and clicked your tongue.

“Yeah,” You replied, your mind spinning as every fiber of you fought to figure out what was going on, “Where’d you get that shirt? That’s a new one.” You asked again, nodding towards the band tee she donned. She cocked her eyebrow at you and bit her lip.

“Y/N, I’ve always had this,” She said, her voice forewarning, “I love Zeppelin, nothing beats em’.” She finished as she sat back in the chair. The air grew silent for a moment, but you were too preoccupied to even notice it. “Hey, why don’t you just go back to bed? I think you might just need to catch up on some sleep, it wouldn’t hurt.” She suggested as she sat cross armed in the chair, staring up at you. Nothing made sense. She hated your classic rock music. She hated classic rock almost as much as she hated coffee. Without answering, you turned your head to the side and peered out the window. The sun was shining on the lawn and parking lot outside of your apartment. It was easily one of the most beautiful days you’d seen. You walked closer towards the window and scanned the parking lot. In the far right corner, a black Chevrolet Impala sat. Your heart thumped loudly for a second at the sight of it. Fake feds. You turned on your heel and headed for the door. Lizzie called your name behind you as you marched on, not bothering to slip shoes on on your way out. After a few hurried strides, you hand wrapped around the door knob, pulling it open. 

Your feet settled in something cold and wet.

 It had felt as if you’d jumped headfirst into a pool on a chilly day. Goosebumps covered every inch of your exposed skin. You looked down. Snow squished and melted between your toes, as the white fluff continued to fall around you. You turned, but there was only a field of white before you. It stretched on as far as you could see in the heavy downfall of snow. You looked all around. There was nothing. Your heartbeat in your chest, only serving as a stark reminder of how fast the cold seeped in through your thin shirt. No, not this. You wrapped your arms around yourself and squeezed your eyes shut. Sirens wailed in the distance, nearing closer at an impossible speed. You knew where they were going. You knew how this story ended. You put your hands on your ears and pushed hard.

“No, no, no,” You moaned, the pressure from your hands making your erratic heartbeat louder in your ear, “No! Please, make it stop, please!” You screamed but only the echo of your voice answered you as you fell to your knees. The cold snow seeped quickly into your thin clothes as you crumpled onto the ground. 

And just like that the sirens stopped.

Hesitantly, you let your hands drop away from the sides of your head and you squinted through the slits of your half-opened eye lids. As if someone had heard your pleads of misery, the environment you were in had changed. Bright white light filled the room. You looked around. The walls were white, the tile was white mixed with outdated swirls of colors. You took a deep breath and tried to still your frantic soul. Placing your hands on the ground, you stood up and straightened yourself out. Every inch of exposed skin was littered in chills from the snowy weather you stood in moments ago. Except, now you wore jeans. When you looked down you noticed your combat boots, worn and familiar. Your loose black shirt slick against you. You reached down and pulled the damp cloth away from your skin as it clung to you. When you touched it, you noticed the substance fresh, it hadn’t had time to dry yet. When you pulled your hand away, thin red blood covered your fingertips. You looked around again, unable to decipher the situation you were now in and how you’d gotten there. A hospital bed sat to your left, a chair in the corner next to it, with an end table of fake flowers. In the corner was a room that jutted out, you figured it’d had to be the bathroom. Taking a few steps towards it, your boots squeaked obnoxiously on the tile as if you’d been out in the rain. Once reaching the bathroom, the mirror revealed the horror that was this memory. 

Pieces of your hair stuck to cheek, dried in place by the old blood no one had cared enough to wipe off. Your shirt, torn in places from where the glass shards had flung across the car and cut into the thin fabric. Your breath caught in your throat just as bile rose with it. Covering your mouth, you hurried to the sink and released the contents of your stomach. It wasn’t much, mostly dry-heaves that shook your core and made your head ache. You wiped your mouth with your shaking hands and turned to get out, to go anywhere, anywhere but here. When you turned you noticed your footsteps from the middle of the room left blood tracks. The thing was, they started in the middle of the room. How did you get there? Where was the blood from? The thought was enough to trigger another light dry heave, and you tried your hardest to suppress it from carrying itself out the way it likely intended. You knew where the blood was from. Before you could react it covered your hands. Everywhere you turned, blood. You pressed your crimson colored hands to your head and squeezed your eyes shut so tight, not a single slip of light peeked in. 

“God, make it stop, please,” You wailed, pain scorching through your mind, “STOP!” You screamed. Then all you saw was black.

----

Part 3 here

[paperbagpetrichor]

Can I request Jotaro x fem reader who has an angel like stan who’s feathers can harden like steel or silver? (Basically like Hawks quirk from bnha)

[ I had a ton of fun with this one! c: ]

It was supposed to be a simple car ride.  A long one, at that, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that in your eyes.  After the chaos of India, the stand users, the...Polnareff and the toilet situation...and Avdol, which you now had to hide from the Frenchman he’d been willing to sacrifice himself for, the sheer absurdity of everything and so fast-paced that if you so much as blinked you’d open your eyes to find yourself in yet another trap, yet another battle, yet another hurried attempt to move on in hopes of avoiding enemy contact, constantly out of breath without a moment to yourself, a nice, tranquil, lengthy drive sounded perfect.  There was always the threat of Dio’s minions, but to your knowledge you’d dealt with a fair enough amount of them in India to say that you’d be surprised if the god wasn’t keeping his security closer to his lair.  You had the advantage of a van regardless.  If someone tried to run after you, all that was necessary was a lean into the gas and you’d be gone in an instant, out of harm’s way.  So as the time passed on with you sandwiched between Jotaro and his grandfather, you relaxed for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, gently leaning your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder as he let you sink into him.  He wasn’t much of the embracing type, nor the talkative one, but the occasional serene expressions the two of you would share every now and then, the way his head would sometimes hover over yours, a quiet reassurance of his presence, was more than enough for you.  

When the red car began to tail you, you didn’t pay it much attention.  Probably just another traveler.  And especially after Polnareff’s unprecedented swerving around the sedan, a rather annoyed traveler, who, you supposed, had every right to be.  But after Anne rejoined the party, squished in beside you and Mr. Joestar, and a passing glance at the back window to see the mountainous terrain disappear into the vague smoothness of the road, only to notice the very same car, you shifted into cautiousness.  Jotaro sensed it, gaze following yours, eyeing you with a small grunt of acknowledgement before the car suddenly honked at you.  It passed, only to slow you down, either meaning one of two things: a pissed-off driver clinging to vengeance like a moth to a light, or an enemy stand user.  The instant Jotaro asked if anyone had seen the driver’s face, your stand materialized at your side.  Bathed in a golden-white light, practically glowing, feathered wings sprouting from its back, it was an angelic sight.  Every time Jotaro saw it, he was captivated.  But as your stand leaned out the window and hardened its feathers, he was reminded of the situation at hand, and fell quiet as you launched steely projectiles at the car, careful to gather them just behind the driver’s window so that should the car’s operator crank it down you’d have a good view of his face.  Of course, this was all thrown off-balance when you found your own vehicle swerving into a truck.  Instantly you retracted your lost feathers and prepared for a fight only to leave without one.  The rest of the ride went in relative silence, whether from shock or insecurities or lack of conversation material or all of the above, but whatever tranquil quiet you and Jotaro had shared earlier was replaced with an air of tension.  Neither of you let your guard down as you pulled into a small roadside teahouse.

You were still nonetheless fascinated with the idea of sugarcane juice, and Jotaro, noticing your longing glances, ordered one for you.  “Thanks,” you smiled as he passed the drink to you, beginning to sip it.  It tasted like liquid sugar - it was delicious.  Jotaro took note of the pleased grin on your face, and you took note of his mark, offering the glass to him.  “It’s really sweet, but good.  Try some.”

With a shrug, Jotaro began to down it, only to pause midway through his first taste and practically gag.  How could you stand that?  It felt like trying to swallow melted sugar cubes, somehow sweeter than any sugar he’d ever tasted, anything he could’ve ever imagined.  He coughed and crinkled his face with disgust before sliding it back to you.  “All yours,” he grumbled.

“Let me guess.  You take your coffee black, and never use milk or honey in your tea, hm?” you giggled, drinking down the last of it as Jotaro snorted before looking away.  You quickly followed him: the red car was in the parking lot.  Setting your glass down, you moved to head up with the rest of the group, who had evidently noticed the presence of the familiar vehicle, faces shifting with suspicion after the bartender admitted he hadn’t seen the person leaving it.  There was only one option left, then, but the entirety of the group looked ready to punch the truth out of every possible patron, tooth and nail.  “Let me handle this,” you instructed, “we don’t need to waste energy trying to find him before we fight him.  Come on, get a drink and act normal.”

The others sensed your plan and followed suit, Jotaro ordering a black chai tea that didn’t deserve its title as he requested no milk or sweetener in it, leaving just the subtle spices, almost as if to prove a point, eliciting a small laugh from you as you ordered a refill of your juice and settled down at a table with him, beginning to head to work.  The range of your stand was considerably larger than Jotaro’s, albeit not as great as Kakyoin’s, but wide enough to encompass all of the tables and bars stationed around you.  You could feel Jotaro’s eyes carefully watching over you as you set to work.  With your hardened feathers, you sent one to each table, fashioning makeshift quills sharp enough to dig into the wood of the simply-fashioned furniture and carefully but quickly carving the phrase Car? into it.  When nobody showed any signs of response, save for shock at the word suddenly appearing on everyone’s table seemingly out of thin air, you pushed the boundaries a bit more.  Angling your feathers’ sharp points in the direction of the customers, you fired a slow burst of consecutive arrows, denting the tables closer and closer to the patrons every time, slowly but surely, a warning sign at its finest.  Again you were faced with nothing but shocked faces.  Nobody seemed to have noticed it was you sending the calls, or at least, if they did, and indeed saw your hardened feathers approaching, refused to show it.  You set your jaw as you reached the table’s edge, scraping out Show yourself, coward, followed by a forceful jolt as a single feather cemented its way harshly between each patrons’ legs, at the least scaring them and providing a brief trapping just long enough for the others of your team to scan the area only to come up empty before the noise of an engine starting distracted all of you.  

The red car was once again on the move.  “Crap,” you muttered, abandoning your drink as you followed Jotaro back to the van and hopped in, bracing yourselves for a rocky, speedy chase, instantly ignited and kicking off the automobile like it had been shoved with the force of a thousand men, jolting forwards and gaining momentum in mere seconds.  You grit your teeth.  If you’d just managed to catch him quicker at the drive-in, or kept your feathers beside the red car’s window, you would’ve been able to make out his face.  

Jotaro saw the subtle change in your face and gave you a nudge; his way of reassurance.  “Like hell that asshole’s getting away.”  As the van sped up and swerved around the curves of the road, hitting stray rocks and throwing about its contents, you were slammed into Jotaro time and time again only to extend a wing around Jotaro and the other around yourself, creating a protective, soft barrier between the two of you.  It wasn’t that you disliked his close presence, but you would understandably prefer it if that presence wasn’t caused by a bumpy ride after a stand user as fast as the van could go.  Once more you shot your arrows out at the car, landing almost soundlessly against the red paint behind the driver’s window against the previous indentations you’d left.  

A dead end.  And then, somehow, the car was behind you, ramming into the van and lurching everyone forwards, your wings the only things preventing you from flying face-first into the back of Kakyoin’s chair, Mr. Joestar using his size and strong arms to hold himself and Anne back.  And then suddenly you were falling.  Thankfully, Hierophant Green’s quick action and Jotaro’s devilishly pointed action saved you, dragging the culprit down, tightening the wench as you emerged safely on the other side, only for your stand and Star Platinum to emerge at the same time, Jotaro delivering heavy blows to the now airborne vehicle and you piercing through its windows with feathers flying from your wings, sending the red car crashing into the ravine and exploding at the bottom.  And yet just when you thought you were done, the car burrowed up from the ground right beneath your means of transportation.  The stand had been the car all along.

Before you so much as had a chance to stop him, Jotaro was attacking the stand, only for it to shoot at him and puncture straight through his arms in fractions of a second, you barely capable of holding back a gasp as he attempted to steady himself, you quickly catching him and helping him stand, taking off your jacket and tearing it in half to wrap each of his arms within them in a primitive bandage, monitoring him but not interrupting him.  You trusted him.  But it hurt to see him in pain like that, to know that the stand was already capable of such damage when just barely provoked.  You were able to sense the car preparing for its next attack just in time and enveloped Jotaro - and the approaching Kakyoin and Polnareff - in your wings, pulling them tightly to you and hardening your feathers so densely that it took a good portion of your strength to keep them covering the men’s bodies as the next attacks were launched, only to fire and rebound off your protective barrier, just a few managing to hit weak spots and causing cuts, thankfully not deep, to drag along your arms as you braced yourself for more.

“[Y/n], the boulders.  Attack from there,” Jotaro breathed against you, and reluctantly you retracted your wall, darting for the safety of the rocks instead, rushing behind them, giving you just enough time to almost absent-mindedly wrap one wing protectively around Jotaro, holding him close, while the other fired steel-sharp, thorny feathers at the attacker.  They pierced the windows and dug into its sides, but failed to completely penetrate the center of the stand, because the car, albeit slowed by your firing, continued to close in on you.  You let your boyfriend go as everyone scrambled up the mountainside and as the vehicle followed, preparing to attack only to realize what had caused your injuries - gasoline.  More shots were fired before you could stop them, hitting Jotaro squarely once more, you barely catching him in your arms before darting out in front, hardening your wings spread as far as you could stretch them, only for your injuries - and subsequently those of everyone your wings touched - to spark into agonizing flame as electricity raged in your veins.  Despite your agony you managed to throw a glance over your shoulder only to see a fear you never knew you had.

Jotaro was enveloped in flames, collapsing to the ground.  The rest of the world faded away, there was nothing but you and the ever-fading faint calls of the others to stay back, but you wouldn’t stay back, you couldn’t stay back, because all you saw and heard and felt was Jotaro, burning, right in front of you, as a scream ripped through your throat as you fumbled for anything, anything, to douse the fire in, only for Jotaro’s voice to snap you out of it.  Your heart was in your chest - the sound had come from behind you, but the flames still raged in front of you...were you just imagining things, trying to avoid the terrifying thought that you’d never see the one you loved most again?  But as you turned, a gasp escaped you as Jotaro struggled out of the ground, you rushing to his side and helping him up.  “Jotaro!”

“I’m okay, [y/n],” he reassured, voice low as he readied himself for the next round of offense, an arm, the less injured one but bleeding nonetheless, draping itself around your shoulder and giving your arm a gentle squeeze, “but it’s time to make this bastard pay.”

[ddproductionsw77]

At The Kissing Bridge

Fandom: IT (Muschietti Films)

Pairing(s): Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak)

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier and (Mentioned) the rest of the Losers

Rating: T (Strong language)

Description: Richie takes Eddie to the Kissing Bridge to show him something to ease his doubts about the future.

Author’s Note: So, this kind of just came to me while I was working on another one shot for the Losers and I just went with it. I hope you like it and I apologize to the people who’s requests I have yet to get to for my easily distracted brain. 

Oh QUICK QUESTION: Would you guys be interested in me writing up some of my headcanons for the Losers and the Next Generation Losers?

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A warm summer breeze swept across the tall grasses of the Hanlon property, causing Eddie to pull the hoodie he was wearing, which did not belong to him, closer.

It felt odd, he reflected, looking over his shoulder at the barn glowing from dozens of strings of lights hung carefully across all the rafters by himself and Beverly. Mike had provided the space, Bill’s parents the decorations, he and Beverly the manual labor.

It was odd to know it was the end of something important. To feel like you were standing at a precipice, knowing the only way forward with straight down into something entirely unknown. He had to admit that, sure, high school hadn’t exactly been all rainbows and sunshine but it had been a devil that he’d grown familiar with. College... the future... that was an entirely new monster.

Biting his lip and running his thumb over the raised scar on his palm in the hoodie pocket, Eddie reminded himself that, compared to his past, the future could only get easier. Anything would be better than some of the terrors lurking in his past.

Still, he found himself, sitting alone on a log outside of the Hanlon’s barn the night of his graduation party, scared shitless. Because it was easier to fear what you’re facing rather than something you still can’t explain, perhaps. Maybe because it was just the way he was wired... to be a fucking coward.

At that moment, his friends were feet away, laughing and drinking and dancing to Janet Jackson without a care in the world, but it felt like he couldn’t join them. Like he couldn’t chance infecting them with his damned anxiety. He wanted to be like them, carefree like them, in love with life and possibility like them... it just wasn’t who he was.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the footsteps approaching through the grass behind him until his guest spoke.

“What are you doing all by your lonesome out here, Eddie?”

Nibbling at his lip, Eddie shrugged, turning his head once again to meet the dark, warm eyes of his boyfriend, “Dunno...”

Richie rolled his eyes, not in a mean way or a teasing way, Eddie could tell, but in a bemused, endeared sort of gesture. A rare moment of genuine emotion from the boy, honestly, one of the moment generally reserved for Eddie alone. Sitting beside him, Richie nudged him with his shoulder, “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get rid of me, Eds.”

Eddie chuckled, quite humorlessly and looked back at the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Richie asked and though Eddie couldn’t see him, he could see in his mind’s eye that cute eyebrow quirk that he always did. “You been steppin’ out on me, lovey dovey?”

Eddie shot Richie a look, adding monotonously, “Ha. Ha.”

“Come on,” Richie reached over, wrapping his arms around Eddie and bring him close. The chill Eddie had been feeling since leaving the barn’s warmth instantly faded away and he felt himself, despite himself, responding to Richie’s touch by snuggling closer. Richie rested his stupidly taller chin on the crown of Eddie’s head, running a hand up on of the hoodie’s sleeves. “I thought you hated this hoodie? You always lecture when I wear it.”

“Smells like you,” Eddie mumbled, slightly abashed, snuggling into the hole-y, monstrosity of a hoodie

“Goddammit,” Richie sighed, hugged his boyfriend closer, “You are so fucking cute, Eds, I can’t stand it.”

Eddie pulled away to glare at him before leaning back in to rest his head of Richie’s shoulder, “Rich?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you scared?”

“Of?”

“The future? Any of it... all of it?” Eddie sounded serious and unsure, leaving Richie little choice but to respond as close to in kind as possible.

“Shit, Eds, I don’t know. I don’t think like you.”

Eddie knew the remark wasn’t meant as a critique, just a simple truth. Part of his love for Richie was born from them not thinking alike, after all. He didn’t snap back, like he might have if they were having a more normal, casual conversation. Now, he didn’t need that. He needed a bit more.

“What if... what if college changes things? Changes us?” Eddie asked, quietly.

“‘Us’ like the Losers?” Richie asked, “Or ‘us’ like you and me?”

“Either... Both.”

Richie shrugged, smiling teasingly when Eddie took his head off his shoulder to shoot him a half hearted glare in response. As his boyfriend returned to his previous position, Richie sighed, “Well, then we change. Fuck, I think that’s kind of the point of college to an extent, Eds. So, sure, something things will probably change but there are somethings that never will.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asked, unconvinced, “Like what?”

“Like the fact that all of us belong together, like some shitty, fucked-up mosaic. No one’s ever get any of us like we get each other. It’s just never gonna happen. Losers gotta stick together.” Richie eyed Eddie’s head on his shoulder and raised it ever so slightly to gesture between them, “And as for you and me... I mean, I guess I can only speak for myself but I’m pretty fucking obsessed with you. Pretty sure that won’t burn out anytime soon.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie quipped, sitting up and picking at a sleeve of the frayed black hoodie.

Richie cocked his head to the side, watching Eddie for a moment before jumping to his feet, “I got something to show you.”

“What?” Eddie looked at him, confusedly.

“Yup, come on and get your cute ass up, we’re going somewhere,” Richie ordered, pulling Eddie up now. “Give me your keys.”

“No! Tell me where you plan on going at one in the morning!” Eddie argued, looking over his shoulder at the barn, where Madonna was now playing, “Besides, if we’re leaving, we should go say goodbye.”

Richie followed Eddie’s gaze to the barn and shrugged, taking advantage of Eddie’s distractedness to reach into his front pocket and grab the keys to the car, “They’ll just assume we’re rolling around in the hay or something.”

“That’s disgusting, Trashmouth,” Eddie chased after his boyfriend, trying to snatch at the keys as they approached the car. “Richie, I’m serious! Fucking give me my keys! You’re not on my insurance!”

“I’ve driven your car a million times, smartass, but cute try.” Richie got into the front seat and started the engine, looking across the car to where Eddie stood stubbornly outside of the passenger’s side door, “Get in, my love.”

“Tell me where we’re going,” Eddie snapped back, arms crossed over his chest.

Richie replied easily, “The Kissing Bridge.”

“Oh, ha ha, Richard,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “When was your last drink?”

“An hour and a half ago, I’m seriously good, Eds. I wouldn’t drive you if I weren’t. Now, get in.” Richie answered, waving Eddie in.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie muttered darkly before finally giving in and climbing into the passenger’s seat. “Where are we going? For real.”

“Told you,” Richie shot him a smirk, “Kissing Bridge.”

“And what does that have to do exactly with what we were discussing before, idiot?” Eddie asked as Richie pulled out of Mike’s long driveway.

Richie laughed and shook his head, “Can you just trust me for once, Eddie Spaghetti?”

He received another cool glare before his boyfriend answered, “I’m in the fucking car, aren’t I?”

“That you are.”

They drove through the night and Eddie tried his best to keep his mind open. He’d wanted a real conversation with his boyfriend, not some stupid goose chase or whatever it was Richie had planned. Sighing, he watched out the window and was surprised to realize that they were indeed driving toward Derry’s notorious Kissing Bridge.

“Okay, what are we doing, Richie?” Eddie asked, “Because I am not hooking up with you on the fucking Kissing Bridge, okay? And besides, that doesn’t prove anything about what will happen in the future—“

Richie pulled to the shoulder right before the bridge and reached over Eddie’s lap to grab a flashlight from the glove compartment, “Eddie, shut the fuck up and follow me, okay? We can save the hooking up for later, if you’re desperate.”

“Me, desperate? Very funny, Richie.” Eddie shot back, following Richie from the car. “You’re the one who get a boner every time I so much as yawn.”

Richie turned to point the flashlight back as him, “Okay, first of all, you know you stretch all sexily when you yawn and you do it on fucking purpose so fuck off, Eddie. And second of all, it was one time! Like right after we’d started having sex, might I add.”

Eddie slapped the flashlight away from his face and shoved Richie gently while smirking to himself. So, maybe sometimes he did stretch when he yawned of purpose... so what?

“Why the fuck are we out here, Trashmouth?”

“Well, if you’d stop distracting me, I’d show you, wouldn’t I?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll just shut up then. A lesson you could take notes on.”

Richie chuckled at his boyfriend and raised the flashlight to the wooden planks of the bridge, glancing from carving to carving. Finally the beam landed on one that caused him to pause and pull Eddie gently toward him by the wrist.

“What?” Eddie asked, turning toward where the beam of light shove of against the white, chipped paint of the bridge. He scanned the area and stopped short upon seeing a pair of initials carved into the wood. “Is that—?”

But the letters were unmistakeable.

R + E

He stepped forward, running his fingers over the clumsily engraved letters, feeling his heart beat faster and his mouth go dry. Turning his head back to Richie, who was watching him, he just barely managed to find his voice, “Did you—?”

Richie nodded, stepping forward and cocking his head to the side as he inspected the carved letters.

Looking between the letters, which appeared worn and old, and his boyfriend, who looked nearly bashful, Eddie’s eyebrows drew together, “But... when?”

Richie sighed and used his free hand to rub the back of his neck, “Uhh... Summer after seventh grade.”

Eddie whirled around time stare at him, eyes wide. “Summer after... but that’s the summer that... we were only 13 that summer.”

“I know,” Richie shrugged and chuckled a little, “I told you before, Eds, I’m kind of obsessed with you. That didn’t just start when we started dating. Look, a lot of shit went down that summer, I know, but figuring out how I felt about you... that’s always been at least one good thing to come out of all of it. I didn’t completely get it then but... Look, Eddie, what I’m saying, in a sort of fucked-up, confusing way, is that I loved you then. I love you a hundred times more now. And I’ll love you even more in the future, college can change whatever else it wants to but it won’t change that. It wouldn’t be possible. You could tell me to fuck off tomorrow and I’d still feel that way.”

Eddie swallowed hard, looking back at the initials carved by a boy he’d once known, a boy who had grown into the man standing there with him now. That boy and his Richie now were different people, just like his Richie now and the one who graduated college four years from now would be different people.

But Richie was right, he’d loved the boy who’d carved their initials into the Kissing Bridge, he loved Richie as he was now and he’d always feel that way. An unknown future couldn’t change that, at least.

Shakily, Eddie looked back at Richie, “D-do you have your pocket knife?”

Richie did that cute eyebrow quirk but reached into his pocket and retrieved the knife, holding it out to Eddie.

Taking it, Eddie carefully butterflied the knife open and delicately went about crouching down before the worn initials. Slowly and taking extreme care, he gently traced over the letters until they were once again clear and plain to read before standing back up, closing the knife and stepping closer to Richie.

“So, you see, right, Eds? We’ll be okay and—“ Richie was silenced by Eddie gripping the front of his t-shirt and tanking him down into a heated kiss.

Barely remembering to keep his grip on the flashlight, Richie wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him closer, kissing him harder. Eddie, he’d long ago decided, was his favorite taste. Like spearmint toothpaste and chapstick but also so much more complex and wonderful than just that.

Pulling away for air, Richie gasped, “Fuck, I love you.”

“Shh,” Eddie rested a finger against his lips to silence him once again, leaning up on his tip toes to kiss up Richie’s jawline to his ear, “Do me a favor?”

“Hmmm?” Richie hummed, eyes drifting closed until Eddie bit lightly at his earlobe.

“Forget what I said earlier about hooking up on the Kissing Bridge,” Eddie pulled away and grabbed Richie’s arm, leading the way back to the car.

“Oh yeah?” Richie asked, half stupidly and half excitedly.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughed and took the flashlight from Richie, turning it off and opening the car door to the back seat to throw it and the closed pocket knife on the floor. He then climbed into the back seat and shot Richie a teasing, questioning look.

Richie did not hesitate to follow after him.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 28:  The Middle of Something

He hadn't hit Moe hard. In truth, he'd been aiming more to disorient him than actually to knock him unconscious. But he was out just long enough for him to tie his hands together in front of his enormous belly. With the final knot, Moe French began to come around. He groaned and blinked his bleary eyes looking around to figure out where he was and what was going on when he realized his hands were tied and finally spotted him. His eyes widened in fear, and he felt pride swell up inside of him at the image. It did make him feel like his old self again. No! Better than his old self! Because this was what he'd always wanted to do to Belle's father after he'd heard the news, he'd always wanted to kill him, to make him afraid, to let him feel the same desperation his own daughter might have felt before she'd been compelled to take her own life. And he didn't need magic to do it…glorious.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Anger reared its head again, tearing through him like a dozen knives at those words. Those words…those exact fucking words. They made his chest constrict and tighten as he recalled a moment in time when he perhaps could have changed the course of history, could have spared Belle's life, and changed the outcome of all this.

So, what are you going to do to me? she'd asked.

Love you, if you'll forgive me…how he wished he'd replied with those words. Instead, he was here, leering over a fat old man, and doing the one thing he hated to do…wish.

He ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll he'd just purchased and placed it over the former King's mouth. "We're going on a little trip," he explained as he moved to the driver's seat. "And once we've arrived, we'll have a nice little chat. Unless, of course, you'd like to tell me where it is before we begin?" He glanced over his shoulder only to see Moe watching him with scared eyes. He neither nodded nor shook his head. Coward. "Didn't think so..."

It finally started to rain while they drove out of town. The once former King made muffled noises the entire way as if he was trying to speak with him, but it was useless with the tape over his mouth. He ignored the moans and groans of his cargo, kept his eyes on the road, and continued to drive to what he had already decided was "the perfect spot" for interrogation. It was a place away from others, a place deep in the woods, a place that Moe French could scream all he liked, but no one would hear him.

His false memories told him that this cabin had been in his family since his Aunt had bought the land. His family had meant to start some sort of vacationing business with it, but they kept one of the better cabins for personal use. He had "memories" of coming up to this place as a child, but the truth was that he'd never been here before. Though he knew the layout, knew all the furniture, knew what was inside every single drawer in the kitchen, he'd never stayed here. Mr. Gold wasn't one to take vacations or time off of any kind. He preferred to be working in town. And so, the cabin had gone unused all these years.

As he pulled into the long driveway for it, he smiled. It was good that he'd finally found a decent use for it.

He shut off the truck's engine and pulled his gun out once more to give it a check. Only then did he lower himself down to the ground and begin his stroll to the back of the van. He had a plan, a good plan. But part of knowing how to plan was assessing the riskiest parts of that plan. Getting Moe into the van had been risky. But getting him from the van to the house…that was riskier.

He was smaller than Moe and obviously less mobile. He could only imagine what it would be like if Moe decided to run into the woods. He'd be lost, obviously, or fall and injure himself, and there would be very little he could do from there on his own. He could call Dove, but he wanted to keep Dove and anyone else away from this situation. If he had to bring someone else in, it wouldn't end the way he wanted it to. He had a gun, if Moe decided to run, then he could shoot, but he didn't want the man dead. If he was dead, then his answers were gone. Maurice was a coward. At least that was his assessment of him in their land. Unwilling to do what was necessary until it was too late, unable to make difficult decisions, even unable to chase after his only daughter once she'd made the decision and the sacrifice for him. The monster hadn't even had the balls to send a soldier to do his dirty work. Maurice was a coward. For his sake, he hoped that Moe would be too.

At the back of the van, he pointed his gun at Moe. "Walk!" he shouted, trying to sound as angry and intimidating as possible. He couldn't shoot him, but he wanted him to think that if he tried anything stupid, he would. He watched as Moe edged himself out of the back of the truck, finally sliding to the ground with a weighted "thud." Then, gun pointed at his back, he ushered the large man to the door and pointed him inside.

"You see, here's the thing…" he explained as he let Moe French into the cabin, "I don't normally let people get away."

He slammed the door, letting Moe jump at the noise. Then he took a look around. He'd never been here in his life, not once in the twenty-eight years Storybrooke had existed…and the cabin smelled like it too. It was musty. The air was damp and stale all at once, in desperate need of a breeze and the smell of rain to clear it out. It was dusty too. Everything in his life was dusty. Odd how he'd never noticed that in his life. It would have driven Belle crazy. Now, the dust mocked him. It made her absence so much more palpable than it had been a few moments ago. And just like that, it was as if he could suddenly see the holes, the places in his life that she belonged but were left unfilled. The library across the street from the shop. The dust all around him. Anger and rage that built inside of him unchecked and unsoothed. Conversations he'd never get to have with anyone. Teacups that were unchipped, meaningless. One of those things he had hope he could fix.

He took the duct tape off of the man's mouth and sat him down on a low bench against the wall, one that would ensure he was always taller and capable of towering over him. Then, against every desire he had, he set the gun down. He had to. He wanted too much to kill the man responsible for the death of the best person he'd ever known, the greatest love he'd ever experienced. He wanted him to die just as she had…but he needed him alive. And looking around this place, seeing and feeling the places she was not, even here, he felt his temper stir. He was smart enough to know that if the gun were on him, it would be too tempting to use it if he frustrated him. For getting him to talk, his cane would do the trick. Annoying and cumbersome as it was, over the years, he'd come to find just how effective a tool it could be.

He grabbed a chair for himself and dragged it over to Mr. French as he whined. "Let me explain, okay? Let me explain."

Explain…explain what, exactly? Why he'd stolen items of value and taken one cup that was both worthless and priceless? Explain why he was alone? Explain why the daughter who had loved him, sacrificed her life for him, had been held against her will in a tower for that sacrifice. How she'd been tortured? How he'd stood by and watched that beautiful light inside of her dim to the point that she felt she had no other choice but to throw herself from the tower and jump to her death? He didn't want to hear it. There was no suitable or acceptable explanation for any of it.

"Oh. Well, that is…fascinating. Truly fascinating!" he exclaimed sarcastically. Then took his cane and pressed it into the man's throat.

Poor Moe gagged. He flinched away from it, brought his hands up to defend himself as best he could, but there wasn't much he could do against him. Not much, but listen and give him his answers. If he couldn't have Belle, he would have her cup back. It was all he had left of her. He'd be damned if he was going to take it away.

"I'm going to let you breathe in a second, and you're going to say two sentences. The first is going to tell me where it is. The second is going to tell me who told you to take it. Do you understand the rules?"

Moe didn't respond. Of course, that could have had something to do with the fact that his cane was pressing down on his windpipe. In that case, he'd take his lack of a response as a response.

"Good. Let's begin."

He pulled the cane from his throat, and Moe French eased, gasping in breath after breath of air. He leaned forward and waited. Two sentences. He hadn't been joking. All he needed to hear were those two sentences, and he'd be content. He'd let the man go, or at least that was what he told himself he'd do. He didn't fear persecution from him! Moe French had just as much of a spine as King Maurice had. He just needed to know where Belle's cup was and if it had been Regina who suggested he take it!

Finally, Moe opened his mouth. "I needed that van..."

"Ah-h-h-h!" he interrupted as anger and excitement mingled inside of him, and he took hold of the cane at the bottom, turning it into an altogether different object. In his pocket he felt his phone vibrate, there was a phone call coming in, but he couldn't be bothered to answer because he was in the middle of something. He didn't know how much he'd wanted Moe French to defy him until just that moment. Now that he had, there were a few lessons he'd been dying to teach him.

"Now, you see, that is not a good first sentence!" he cried before bringing the head of the cane down on him.

Lesson one: pain.

"Ow! Gold! Listen!"

"Tell me where it is!"

Lesson two: reward sacrifice, don't kill it!

"Ow!" he screamed as he hit him again. "Stop!"

"Tell me where it is!"

Lesson three: respect.

"Ow! Stop! It wasn't my fault!"

A shiver ran through his body at those words. "'My fault'? What are you talking about, 'my fault'?"

Fault. He wanted to talk about fault?! Fantastic!

Lesson four: whose fault was it that he was alone? Whose fault was it that they were both alone? That he was the way he was? Whose fault was it that so many in Storybrooke would hold their loved ones close tomorrow night while all he held close was a damaged cup made of porcelain?!

His.

"You shut her out. You had her love, and you shut her out!"

Lesson five: good parenting!

French screamed again as he delivered the blow.

"She's gone. She's gone forever – she's not coming back. And it's your fault!"

Lesson six: kindness.

"Not mine!"

Lesson seven: acceptance!

"You are her father!

Lesson eight: personal property!

"Yours! It's yours!"

Lesson nine: strength.

Lesson ten…love.

He lost track of the number of times he hit him after that, completely forgot to remember what the lessons were supposed to be. The world faded away as he administered blow after blow after blow. He didn't know the words coming out of his mouth. He became numb to the ringing of his phone blended together with the yelps coming out of Maurice when he suddenly felt a hand close over his wrist.

Emma Swan.

"Stop!" she ordered.

He looked at Moe, and suddenly, an image surfaced in his mind, a picture of Belle smiling at him after she'd begged him not to kill Robin Hood, and he hadn't. Calm broke over him like a breeched damn at the memory, and the fire inside of him extinguished. He cooled as he remembered her face, remembered the feel of her when she'd thrown her arms around him and what she'd helped him to feel stirring inside the now empty place in his chest.

He stopped. Belle didn't give him a choice. Neither did the Swan.

[robinskey]

Don’t Touch My Family

Request: Would you be willing to make an imagine of dad!billy were after graduation u nd billy leave town bc u get pregnant w/out telling anybody but after a few years u have a son & daughter Neil finds out n come by the house hella pissed while billy isnt home, tries to hurt u nd the kids but billy comes home n just beats the hell out him for trying to hurt his family? just the thought of billy goin after the only person hes terrified of for HIS family makes him THE father he never had makes me melt ❤

A/N: This is a little bit darker than my typical fluffy sunshine fanfic, but I really liked the request, so I decided to do it anyway. :) Sorry if you wanted something shorter, anon-this turned into more of a drabble/one-shot than an imagine. Thanks for requesting!

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, descriptions of violence, implied abuse, language

You find out you’re pregnant halfway through the last semester of senior year. 

When you tell Billy, you expect him to freak out. He doesn’t, though-at least, not on the outside. On the inside, he’s absolutely panicking. But he can see how upset you are, so he just pulls you close. He whispers into your hair that he’ll support you in whatever you want to do.

After a few days of contemplation, decide you want to have the baby. You and Billy agree that it’s best to keep your pregnancy a secret-for now, at least. If your parents found out, your father would probably actually fire that shotgun he’s always threatening to use on “that deadbeat boyfriend of yours.”

And Billy...well, he has no idea how his father would react. But he has no intentions of finding out.

Thus, Billy offers to run away with you right there on the spot. However, you ultimately decide that it would be better to finish high school. Maybe you'll even be able to save up a little bit of money before the two of you start a new life together.

So, for the next few months, you wear baggy clothes to hide your growing midsection. Billy picks you up for “dates” that are actually doctor’s appointments. Thanks to your valiant efforts, no one suspects a thing.

Eventually, graduation rolls around. Your family hosts a small get-together after the ceremony. Distant relatives congratulate you on your achievements and ask if you’re excited to start this “new chapter in your life.” You smile and nod.

You have no idea.

Later that night, you stuff everything you can fit into a small tote bag. You leave an apology note to your parents on the kitchen counter and sneak out of your house.

Billy’s waiting for you outside in the Camaro. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead and holds the door open as you climb into the passenger seat. As he drives away, you watch your childhood home shrink into the distance, saying a silent goodbye to the only home you’ve ever known.

***

Five years later, you and Billy share a two-bedroom house on the West Coast. You have two kids-a son and a daughter. Billy works as a mechanic at an auto repair shop, while you write for the local newspaper. Neither of you make much money, but it doesn’t matter. You’re both happy-genuinely happy-for the first time in your lives.

Billy gets home around 5:30 every day, so, when the doorbell rings at 5:15, you figure he just got off early.

“I’m coming, honey!” you yell, bouncing your infant daughter on your hip.

But when you peek into the peephole, you discover not your husband standing on your doorstep but a scruffy older man in tattered clothing. His face is scrunched up, and he squints in the sun. You freeze, clutching your baby to your chest.

Neil Hargrove is standing on your porch.

“I know someone’s home. I heard you,” he barks. “Come on. Open up. I just want to talk.”

He raises a dirty fist and raps on the wood. The noise scares your daughter, who starts to whimper. You’re too busy shushing her to notice your son appear at your side.

“Mama, who’s that?”

You clamp a hand over his mouth and suck in your breath. Maybe, if you’re quiet enough, you can cancel out the noise made by your clueless four-year-old.

“Is that my grandson?”

For a split second, his volume dips below its typical scream-level. It’s the most gentle you’ve ever heard him speak.

But then he has to ruin it by pounding once more on the door.

“Come on, you coward, open the damn door!” He rattles the doorknob so violently that you think it might fall off.

This time, you can’t prevent your daughter from letting out a wail. Beside you, your son sniffles.

You muster every last fiber of courage in your being. “Get the hell out of here, Neil,” you growl, trying to sound as menacing as possible.

“Y/N? Is that you?” he asks. There’s a soft thud, almost like he’s just leaned his forehead against the wood.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought it was Billy in there,” Neil says.

“Billy-Billy is here,” you stutter.

“No, he’s not. I don’t see the Camaro anywhere, and I know my son takes that damn car everywhere,” Neil says.

Your son wraps his arms around your calf and clings to it. You hope he isn’t able to absorb the panic pulsing through every part of your body

“I’m warning you, Neil, to walk out of here while you still can. I…” 

You scan the messy living room, littered with toys. Your gaze falls on a plastic pistol laying on the sofa.

“I have a gun. And I’m not afraid to use it,” you threaten.

The wall between you slightly muffles his ominous chuckle, but it still reaches your ears.

“I’m sure you do, sweetie. But there’s no need to get violent on an old man who just wants to see his grandkids. Why don’t you just open the door, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you just go to hell, Neil?” 

The silence drags on long enough for you to almost convince yourself that he’s walked away.

Almost.

And then, just loud enough for it to be audible: “If that’s how you want to play it.”

You jump out of the way as the door falls inward with a thud.

Neil Hargrove slowly lowers the foot he used to kick it down, glaring at you with bloodshot eyes.

You push your son behind you, wrap your arms tighter around your daughter, and take cautious steps backwards.

“Did you really think you could hide from me forever?” he asks. He advances deeper into your home-your sanctuary-with every word.

“What do you want from me?” you demand. Your backside collides with a wall; Neil’s backed you into a corner.

“I just want what you and my son stole from me by skipping town five years ago,” Neil says. “A chance to connect with my family.”

He draws close enough that you can count every crater left by untreated acne on his creased face and smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “I knew you had one child,” he says, peeking around you at the little boy cowering in the corner, “but two? What a pleasant surprise. This little one-let me see her face.”

Neil extends a wrinkled hand to peel back the blanket covering the baby. You’re too stunned to react until his filthy finger is only inches from her face. That’s when you raise a knee and jam it into his groin. He doubles over with a grunt.

“Go!” You practically shove your son into his room and set the baby next to him. Then, a hand wraps around your ponytail, yanking you backwards. Tears stream down your face as you scream at your kids to shut the door and lock it. There’s a slam and a click, then the word “bitch” yelled into your ear. Neil spits into your ear canal as he calls you every name in the book. You claw and kick and punch, but Neil’s got a death grip on your hair. He drags you across the living room floor, promising that he’s “going to make you pay.” He finally tosses you onto the couch. Your back aches as the barrel of the fake gun juts into your spinal cord.

Between your shrieks and Neil’s name-calling, you don’t hear the roar of the engine as the Camaro pulls onto your street, nor the squeal of the brakes as Billy pulls up next to the beat-up pick-up truck he’d recognize anywhere. You don’t hear your husband’s thundering footsteps as he sprints up the sidewalk. No, you don’t notice any of that; you’re too preoccupied flailing around as Neil tries to pin you to the sofa. 

But even though you don’t see him, Billy appears in the doorway, still wearing his navy mechanic jumpsuit. He’s covered in grease stains and flushed skin. And, for the first time in his life, he raises his voice at his father without an inkling of fear of the consequences.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

He charges at his father, who’s caught completely off-guard. The two of them crash onto the coffee table, snapping it in two. They only wrestle for a minute before Billy comes out on top. He raises his fist and brings it down on his father’s face until it’s nothing more than a bloody pulp. Billy continues landing blows long after Neil passes out. And, while Neil Hargrove certainly deserves it, you’d rather not have Billy kill someone in your house with your kids in the literal next room. So, eventually, you walk up to your scratched-up, bruised husband and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Baby,” you say softly. 

He gazes up at you, the pain and torment of eighteen years of abuse bubbling to the surface once again. Once his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He raises himself to his feet and pulls you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you so tightly that you wince, sore from Neil throwing you around like a ragdoll. Billy apologizes profusely and holds you out at arm’s length. His eyes flicker over your features.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” you say honestly. Your hands are shaking profusely, your heart rate is still elevated well above normal levels, and you’re pretty sure you’ll have nightmares about this encounter for the rest of your life. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“A little. But it could have been so much worse, if you hadn’t…” 

A single tear trails down your cheek. Billy wipes it away with his thumb.

“You don’t have to go there, Y/N. Don’t go there,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Your eyelids flutter shut. “You’re right. We’re safe now-me, the kids-”

“The kids!” you both exclaim at the same time. You run to their bedroom and knock on the door. It swings open, and two small children stare up at you. They both burst into tears, and you and Billy gather them into your arms.

The police arrive a few minutes later, just as Neil starts to regain consciousness. (Having nosy neighbors pays off when you need someone to call 9-1-1 without being asked.) As the officers escort Neil out of the house in handcuffs, Billy warns him to never come near his family again.

And for the first time in his life, his father actually listens.

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny  @sweetboibilly @scarrasco1325  @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[inkbun]

If you arenct busy, could you maybe do a (romantic)Roadhog x Fem!Reader angst? Maybe Roadie finds poor reader in a severe depression/anxiety episode(you decide how far it goes, I don't want to make you uncomfortable), and he tries to calm her down? Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Back at it again @ Krispy Kreme. Took a career change and a major move, but I’m back babeyyy. Anyways, this was more serious than I intended, but I like how it turned out. Enjoy! 🐷

(FYI- I’m in a completely different timezone than before so uploads may be random for a while until I figure out what works.)

Words: 1886

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Your back slammed the rusted wall, pocked surface snagging your well-worn henley. Clawing your chest, you tried to regulate your breaths: In for seven, out for eight... only to hyperventilate on the second exhale. Though the panic was an old foe, its trigger this time was wholly unfamiliar.

Living in Junkertown brought its fair share of terrors: thieves and the cowards who stab them in the — two-faced swindlers, and the head of it all, the ruthless Junker Queen. You were by no means a native, having spent most of your adult life in cities like Brisbane. Which while wild in their own right, were far from the barren wasteland that daily threatened your mortality.

Even so, you’d rather a cage match in the Junkertown arena than deal with the situation at hand.

“It’ll be f-fine,” you stammered, pulling the flimsy stick from your pocket. It was decidedly unremarkable—tapered white plastic with a tiny LCD screen in the middle. Funny how something so simple could remain unchanged for over a century since its invention.

Wish it was as simple to get one. Depsite its proclivity for debauchery, Junkertown dealers didn’t often traffic in women’s wellness. Diesel, angel dust, mech parts? Name your price. But a pregnancy test? Everyone loses their minds.

“Rightly so,” you muttered, hands tremoring as you clutched the device.

Your own carelessness had landed you here. Junkertown had a finite supply of...protection dealers and you’d exhausted their existing supply—not that it stopped you.

To be fair, Mako had egged you on—dragging you to the edge of pleasure, dangling you over while his solid arms clutched you close. Granted, you tried to warn him of the line he was toeing, the very real danger the two of you were toying with. The words came in sputtery, pleasure-choked breaths: “Mako p-please, not inside...it can’t...you can’t—”

Mako answered, voice so deep it murmured in your chest. “Don’t care, you’re mine. I want them to know...” At the time the words thrilled you, a sharp departure from his usual level head.

Your tryst with the infamous Roadhog began rather simply. You were an apprentice for Bruce, Junkertown’s master engineer; Mako occasionally brought his motorcycle in after hours for hush-hush repairs. For months you’d tried to figure him out, drawn to the man who always kept his mask on and relegated all responses to appropriately-timed grunts.

Though frightening at first, you grew to enjoy—no, crave—his presence, especially delighted when he brought shop presents from his exploits. They usually consisted of food, like Bruce’s favorite cinnamon vines and your own, powdered sugar donuts. Occasionially he brought trinkets, though you didn’t dare ask where from. The most expensive of these, a solid gold set of brass knuckles, served as a welcome supplement to your growing treasure stash.

Bruce ribbed you about the blossoming...something between you two, smile poorly hidden in his scraggly white beard. “I haven’t seen ‘Hog get excited over anyone in a long while. Hardly looks my way if you’re in the room.”

You waved him off, calling him a silly old man caught up in daydreams. But he was right, even if you only admitted it in your quiet moments. So, when Mako came by late one evening for repairs on a blown gasket and Bruce wasn’t around, you stepped in to help.

Tension-laden, you worked on the bike, doing your best to keep your mind from straying to his large hands, or your eyes from the plethora of tattoos and scars across his skin. Somehow you could feel his gaze, even beneath the mask, felt the curious intensity even though he said little.

“Thanks,” he said, once you were done, drawing just close enough for you to examine him up close.

Strange, you thought, taking in the hulking man before you. Mako’s wiry demolitionist sidekick had tried flirting with you, but on nights when your hand snaked beneath the band of your cargos, you dreamt of thick arms and a shock of white hair accompanying deep, pleasured growls. And that’s when you knew you were in trouble.

You flashed a sultry smile, not bothering to adjust the fallen strap of your denim overalls. “No bother at all. I know I’m not Bruce, but my touch ain’t half bad.”

“That so?” he chuckled, timbre-rich sound warming your bones. You nodded vigorously, dislodging the other strap in the process. Reason told you to pull it back up, act like nothing happened — for god’s sakes don’t fuck the outlaw.

You promptly did the opposite, drawing nearer until you hit his stomach, fingers boldly exploring the skin there. Mako went very still, strangled groan escaping him as you kept on. At last he stopped you, taking your arm gently in his large hand.

“I’m a bad man, ____.”

You snorted, spirit too consumed to let a little self-deprecation stop you. Gently you reached up, bracing on his stomach for balance as you tugged the bottom of his mask up. Mako flinched, grip on your hand tightening before at last giving a single nod: a silent “Continue.”

With some difficulty you unfastened it, fascinated with every inch of the face it revealed. He was younger than the white ponytail suggested, honey brown eyes alight with quiet mischief; his snub nose was adorned by a septum ring, with sharp cheekbones punctuated by stubble and facial scars. He was oddly handsome, despite the apprehension and want warring on his face.

Breathless, you stilled your thundering heart and braced both palms against him, fingers spanning in search of more. “Show me.”

That was nearly a year ago, the months since filled with snuck rendezvous in Bruce’s shop, your apartment, and a host of “we’ll be killed if we’re caught” locations. Neither of you publicly claimed the other, both of you citing op sec as the reason. Mako was wanted in far too many towns, and you didn’t need any of Junkertown’s nastier characters—including the Queen herself—knocking on Bruce’s door with questions.

Still, the past few months had seen a palpable...something growing between you. Mako had started staying the night instead of returning to his hideout with Jamison, clutching you in slumber like one of his beloved pachimaris. You began keeping apricot jam, his favorite, in the fridge and doubled your grocery order just in case he stopped by.

You were serious. Maybe not in love—Was that even possible in the Wasteland?—but definitely serious.

“And I’m about to fuck it all up,” you whispered, tears welling your eyes as you pondered taking off the cap. It’d been at least an hour since it chirped, announcing the results were in. Three times you gathered up the courage to look—three times you failed, panic robbing you of breath and vision blurring whenever you even considered the possibility of a positive result.

Your brain whirred, spitting questions with no good answers: Would he still want me? Would he blame me? Would he leave?

Would he, would he...on and on it went until you were queasy.

The swirling dread robbed you of awareness, so much so that you failed to hear your the click of your a door as someone unlocked it, or the thumpy footsteps on the stairs accompanied by inquisitive “hmms” as Mako searched the workshop for you.

You’d gone totally numb, shivering against the wall; just then, a familiar hand tapped your shoulder.

“Roadie!” you jumped, test stick clattering to the floor. You tried to rein your voice in, aware it likely teetered on hysterics. “What are you doing here?”

He had forgone the mask as you liked, tattered t-shirt straining against his tummy and large arms. His was hair out of its usual ponytail, gathered around his neck in a shaggy white crop. Every bit of it screamed relaxed, as did the takeaway boxes tucked under his arm. Mako had come for a date, and you were about to ruin it all.

“I was around,” he offered, watching you for a moment. Then, nodding at the ground. “What’s that for?”

Realizing the test was out in the open, you scrambled to snatch it up. “N-nothing! Silly business really, don’t worry about it, I just—”

“Don’t lie to me, ____,” he said, snatching up the test with deceptive speed.

The words were gentle, softer than anything you’d ever heard from him. Of course I can’t hide from him. He might be an internationally-wanted criminal, but Mako was one of the most perceptive people you’d ever met. Not that it’d take a savant to derive the source of your current meltdown.

He held the damning evidence in front of you. “This yours?”

You nodded, biting your lip to quell your tears. Mako nodded, face drained of emotion. He watched you a moment, eyes resting on your middle.

“Would it be mine?”

You nodded again, momentary incredulity granting you courage to speak. “Whose else’s?”

That got a slight chuckle, quickly replaced by the first instance of worry you’d ever seen on his face.

“You look yet?”

You shook your head no.

“Scared?” he asked, face full of comprehension.

You nodded, trembling progressed to sobbing tremors. Without another word Mako pulled you toward him, willing you still with his solid warmth. By degrees you stopped, reduced to sniffles and quiet babbling.

“I’m so sorry, I ruined everything. You came to have a good time and you face so much out there and I-I—“

Mako kissed your head, lips lingering against your clammy skin. “Stop. We’ll look at it together.”

It wasn’t a question and you had no will left to fight. Still, the unspeakable question prowled your thoughts, compelling you to ask.

“And if it’s...” you said, trailing off as you stared at him with welling eyes.

“Then it is,” Mako said, training his quiet, determined gaze on your frightened one. “But I’m yours, ____. No matter what.”

You cried out in relief, so flooded with happiness you could only hug him tighter. Mako laughed, sound soothing like summer rain on desert sand. Standing on your tippy toes, you kissed him, leaching every ounce of gratitude and affection you could into your lips. He answered ferverently, flicking his tongue across yours before pulling away.

“Ready?” he asked, holding the test up. Taking a deep breath, you nodded. With him by your side, you could do anything. Using his thumb, Mako slid the shutter covering the screen, both of you holding your breath as you uncovered the result: Negative.

The sound you made barely qualified as human, but Mako just laughed, ruffling your hair with his free hand. Crisis averted, turned your attention to the fragrant takeaway boxes, sure you detected the tang of greasy noodles.

“Hungry?” Mako asked, scarred cheek quirking as he smiled.

You stood, temporarily stunned by the pure affection on his face. He wouldn’t say it yet, and neither would you until you got good and ready, but right then you knew that Mako Rutledge, criminal extraordinaire, loved you.

Stomach grumbling, you answered with a smile. “For you? Always.”

[dawninlatin]

Queen of Peace, chapter 5

A manorian high school AU

Words: 1999

AO3 Link: Click here

Link to masterlist: Click here

Summary: Manon Blackbeak is flawless, untouchable. From the outside at least. Her grandmother pushes her to achieve greatness, and she doesn’t let anyone get too close in fear of being hurt. How can anyone love her when not even her parents could?

Dorian Havilliard has always felt safe and confident around his friends. He might not have the greatest of families, but with Aelin and Chaol by his side, nothing can go wrong. That is until he tries keeping his greatest secret from them.

What will happen when Dorian and Manon gets to know one another? Can two lost souls find their way back together?

Say my name

As every color illuminates

We are shining

And we will never be afraid again

-Florence + The Machine, Spectrum

Dorian was sitting outside the school building, waiting for Chaol. They had planned to get dinner together- it was Friday, and Dorian wanted to celebrate the big chemistry test they’d both had earlier today.

At least that’s what he’d told Chaol when he’d texted him last night.

Around midnight, Dorian had gotten a text that only said: Saturday, 3pm, the library. The person who had sent it hadn’t even bothered signing their name. Still, as soon as Dorian saw the text, he knew it had to be from Manon. He swore he could even hear her voice saying it, full of annoyance over the fact that she had to give in and agree to work with him.

He had replied it’s a date, and even added a smirking emoji, knowing it would irritate her to no end. Then he’d waited for her response - an emoji rolling it’s eyes or an insult or whatever - but she’d left him on read. Thinking about it now, Dorian doubted Manon Blackbeak used emojis.

The exchange - and the newly made plans for his Saturday - had left him so high on adrenalin that he’d texted Chaol as well, not really aware of what he’d done before the message was sent.

He was going to do it.

He was coming out to his best friend.

Today.

The adrenalin rush from last night had most certainly worn off. Dorian’s heart was beating faster than ever before and his palms were getting uncomfortably sweaty. He most definitely regretted sending the text - even if it was just a question about dinner - hell, he even contemplated making up some excuse and bolting.

But no matter how nervous he was, Dorian had decided to do it, so it would happen. Today. He was going to tell Chaol that he was bisexual, and then Aelin, and then some day in the future, he would tell his parents.

Dorian was sick of hiding, of pretending. Of thinking that his best friends wouldn’t accept him for who he was. They loved him, and his sexuality wouldn’t change any of that.

At least that’s what he told himself…

He pulled up his phone once more to check the time. The biology teacher had ended their lesson early today, so he had to sit and wait for Chaol’s lesson to end. The waiting didn’t exactly make his nerves any better.

You have nothing to be afraid of, he reminded himself, probably the hundredth time that day. But still, there was this tightness in his chest, refusing to leave. He knew it would be fine, but he couldn’t let go of all the what ifs.

As Dorian was about to check his phone again, he heard the bell ring. Shortly after, Chaol came strolling out of the building.

Dorian stood up, willing his knees to stop shaking and waved at his friend.

«You ready to go?» Chaol said in greeting, nodding towards his car.

Forcing a smile, Dorian gave a quick «yes» in reply, his voice cracking slightly.

Get your shit together, he scolded himself.

Chaol asked him about his day as they walked over to the vehicle, but Dorian could only get himself to shrug. «It was fine. The usual.»

Dorian opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat while Chaol begun talking excitedly about something that happened in PE today. «You won’t believe this, Dorian-,»

He tried to listen, tried to pay attention, but the words didn’t register as the engine started and they drove away, towards the diner. Towards Dorian finally telling the truth.

-

As they were driving, the trembling and shaking and sweating stopped for a moment. Dorian had felt incredibly relieved as he found himself able to listen, to even contribute with his own stories and opinions, and they slowly eased into the normal, carefree conversations him and Chaol usually had. They talked about the chemistry test, about the day in general, their plans for the weekend - Chaol wanted to head to some party, Aelin too apparently - Dorian even laughed as Chaol vividly described how his teacher had managed to show all the photos from his vacation to Hawaii instead of a presentation on world economy.

Talking about their weekend plans had also gotten his mind back on Manon. Dorian was genuinely excited for their project and the opportunity to get to know the girl. She might come off as cold and uncaring, but Dorian saw the way she looked at things, at people. He was desperate to find out what was going on in that mind of hers whenever she seemed to disappear in her own thoughts. He was desperate to find out who she really was.

-

The carefree feeling that had been present during the car ride was certainly gone now. They were sitting in their usual booth at the diner, trying to decide what to order. Dorian was shaking again, his hands trembling, heart thundering, lungs unable to get enough air. All the noise around him deafened by the roaring in his ears getting louder, and louder and-

«Hey!» Chaol waved his hand in front of Dorian’s face. «Are you okay? I’ve asked you the same question three times now…»

Dorian shook his head, willing his body to just calm the fuck down. «Yeah…um…just a little…peaky, I guess.» He tried meeting Chaol’s eyes, tried giving him a reassuring smile, fake as it was. Chaol didn’t buy it, his concerned eyes searching Dorian’s face for whatever was wrong. When Dorian just kept forcing that disgusting smile on his face, his friend finally shifted his gaze back towards the menu.

«So, what pizza do you want?»

-

Their food had been delivered half an hour ago, but Dorian had barely touched it. He was going to be sick. He needed fresh air, needed a break, needed some space.

Just do it, coward, that vicious voice echoed in his mind.

The meal had been awfully awkward this far. Dorian had tried to speak, had tried to say it, but he could never seem to find the right moment, and when he did, his throat would tighten, and the words would refuse to come out. As a result, Dorian was barely saying anything, instead just staring down at his untouched food.

At the opposite side of the table, Chaol was growing more and more suspicious, clearly sensing that something was wrong. Yet he didn’t say anything, just threw a worried look at Dorian every now and then.

Dorian felt his heart beating faster and faster, felt his chest tighten, blood rushing in his ears.

I can’t keep living like this, he decided. It has to be now…

It was so simple, in theory. It was just words after all. But the fear, the anxiety, refused to let go, and Dorian hated it. He was done with being afraid, done with lying awake at night, done with keeping the truth from his best friends. He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that needed to be hidden from the world like some dirty secret.

Chaol opened his mouth, no doubt about to ask if he was okay a second time, but Dorian beat him to it.

His throat tightened once again, mouth going dry, but he forced the words out. «I actually…um…wanted to tell you something. That’s why I asked you to hang out…» His voice was shaking so badly, and he was talking so low that he was surprised Chaol heard any of it, but he kept going.

Dorian thought his heart was actually going to jump out of his chest - that’s how fast it was beating right now - as he watched the look of surprise on Chaol’s face.

«Oh, okay, go ahead,» his friend said, giving him an encouraging smile, brows slightly raised in question.

It was even harder to speak this time, but he was determined to go through with it. The matter of his sexuality had already been a secret for too long. He wanted to feel proud of who he was, but it was difficult when he kept hiding it from his loved ones.

Ready or not, he was done being afraid.

«I’m bisexual.»

Dorian wasn’t sure he was breathing as he waited for Chaol’s reaction, as he saw his friend’s eyes widen. He had pictured this conversation in his head at least a thousand times, a different reaction for each of them.

This was a mistake, that voice inside of him said.

But then Chaol looked him in the eye, and said the words Dorian wanted to hear so badly.

«OH! Okay, cool.»

Then he smiled at Dorian. He smiled the way he had countless times before. He smiled the way he had that one time when they’d been 8, and they’d ridden their bikes so fast that they’d crashed in Aelin’s neighbor’s fence, and he had scraped his knees and it had hurt so much, but the sun was shining and the air around them was warm and they were carefree, happy children.

And as Dorian saw that smile now, after telling him his biggest secret, after finally being free of the fear and anxiety, he felt a tear land on his cheek, the wave of relief and pride crashing through him.

After that one tear came another one, then another. Dorian would have felt embarrassed by the way he was straight out crying, but he was just so relieved. It would be okay. This didn’t change anything, and they would be okay. He would be okay.

As the first sob wracked through his body, Chaol rushed over to his side, arms coming around him in a warm embrace. «Hey, don’t cry, it’s okay-,» Chaol whispered, comforting his best friend.

Dorian managed to get out an «I’m sorry» in between the sobs, but Chaol interrupted him before he could finish the sentence.

«You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? You being bi doesn’t change anything, you’re my best friend, hell, you’re basically my brother. I love you, no matter what, you know that right?»

The only thing Dorian could do was nod while trying to stop the tears. The tightness in his chest was gone, he noticed. In its place was a new kind of indescribable joy. And pride, of finally having told someone!

He had told someone.

He had told Chaol, and he still loved him. Nothing had changed.

Everything was going to be okay.

When Dorian finally managed to stop crying, Chaol moved back to his seat. «Have you told Aeling yet?»

Dorian shook his head. «You’re the first to know. Congrats!»

Chaol laughed at his joke, and Dorian laughed with him, just because he couldn’t help it. He was so, so happy. So relieved.

«So, how long have you known?» Chaol asked, voice curious.

«Since we were freshmen and I got a huge crush on Fenrys Moonbeam…»

«Not Moonbeam,» Chaol deadpanned. «He’s a walking cliché.»

«I know that now, but I was young and stupid,» Dorian defended himself, the two of them talking about the fact that he’d had a crush on a boy like they would talk about any other subject.

-

When Dorian came home that night, he felt lighter than he had in years. His heart was calm, his breathing steady and so easy. He still had a long way to go, still had a lot of people to tell, but he had a feeling it would be alright. In that moment, he felt invincible.

His phone buzzed, and he opened it to find a text from Chaol:

Hey, just wanted to let you know that this changes nothing between us. I think you are very brave for coming out, and I am honored by the fact that you told me first. You know you can talk to me about anything, no judgement, ever. Love you bro<3

-Chaol

Everything would be alright indeed.

A/N: This was a difficult chapter to write, but I am happy with how it turned out (even if it's a little messy, oops), and I want you to know if you are struggling with the same feelings as Dorian: You are awesome, you matter, you are loved, and you have every reason to be proud of who you are, no matter what!

As always, constructive criticism and tips on how to make my writing not suck are appreciated:)

Peace&Love<3 -Dawninlatin

[lemonadegarden]

Aaaahhhh I’m so glad you’re taking prompts. What about 39. “If you don’t rest, you won’t get better/heal.” with Bruce and Damian? Thanks :D

this is a billion days late, but here ya go!

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“If you don't rest, you won't heal.”

It only happened because Damian was curious.  

It was stupid, he knew. He just wanted a break from those stupid Judo drills Father kept making him do, so he'd snuck out of the cave, and wandered around the property, running and jumping through the wooded area a little ways from the West lawn. It even had a little stream, and Damian splashed about in it for a minute, chasing little silvery fish and tiny frogs, before he grew bored.  

After that, he went to the Manor garage. The garage was one of Damian's favourite places in the whole house. It was a huge shed, almost thirty metres long and about a quarter as wide, and it always smelled like engine oil.

It was where Father kept all his cars. He had almost twenty of them. He enjoyed collecting old ones, and tinkering with their engines, which Damian found strange. They were called Vintages.

Father said that put together, they were almost as valuable as the Manor. And then he had said that Damian was to be very careful when he went there, and to not touch anything.  

So of course, Damian went there all the time. And he touched everything.

It was only later that he realised what a stupid thing it had been, to do.

He ran up to the red Ferrari, which he liked the most. Gingerly, he opened the door and got in, and sat inside. He put his hands on the steering wheel, and pretended he was driving down the highway, making car noises.

Then he flushed, looking around. He was acting like a child. He was far from a child, at eleven and a half. If Drake saw him now, he would never let him live it down.

He jumped out of the car, running over to the end of the garage. There was a smaller shed pushed up against the very corner, and he looked at it curiously. It was tiny, practically a wooden closet. In his six months of living in the manor, he had managed to explore almost all parts of the property, but he'd never gone into this particular shed before. He hesitated for a second, and then he opened the door.  

Inside, there was a bicycle. He stared at it.  

It was painted a bright, sky blue. The colour of the sky, during the hot summers back at home. The spokes of the wheels were painted blue as well, as were the handles and the basket and the pedals. It looked like what Damian thought a painting of a bicycle would look like, much less an actual one.

He was frozen in place. It didn't belong to him. He shouldn't– he couldn't–

He slowly reached out to touch the handles. It couldn't be that hard. Anyone could ride a bicycle. Even Drake, who was arguably a little mentally challenged, knew how to do it. All he had to do was get on and… pedal. That was it.  

That would be it.  

*

Grandfather had always told him that he lacked focus.  He knew that sometimes they spoke about it, when they thought he was asleep.

“He's too much like his father,” he had heard Grandfather say once, his voice quiet and furious, “always asking questions. Always wanting answers. That boy needs to learn how to keep his head down and follow orders.”

Damian's eyes had been closed. He was lying in bed, his body weary and drained from a long day of training. He had foolishly asked Grandfather if he could take a few hours off to go and see the fair in the nearest village by the compound.

Grandfather had said no. Damian had been furious, and he'd raged on and on about how he was already a better warrior than most of the apprentices Grandfather kept, and wasn't he less than half their age? He didn't need any more of this training, and certainly not from an old man like his Grandfather and–

Grandfather had slapped him.

He remembered freezing in shock. Mother had never touched him. It was– it was wrong. He stared wordlessly at Mother, waiting for her to do something. But she had only looked away.  

“Make sure he listens,” Grandfather said, when they were outside his chambers.

Mother had been quiet. “Yes, Father,” she said at last. It was strange, how mother let no one order her around but Grandfather. Damian realized with a start that perhaps– perhaps she was scared of him. The idea troubled him. Mother wasn't supposed to get scared.  

After he had left, Mother had come into his chambers and sat on the bed, next to him. She had stroked his head, while he pretended not to sniffle.

“Shhh,” she said gathering him up in her arms. Her threw his arms around her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He had only been five then, and such foolish things had been tolerated because he was so little.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice small.  

“Don't be, habibi,” she said. Her voice was sad. “It's just the way things are. You are a soldier first. A grandson second. At least, as long as you live here,” she said. There had been a strange edge to her voice, when she had said that.  

“Where else would I live?” he asked curiously, climbing onto his mother's lap. She smelled like Jasmine and tea leaves. He inhaled, closing his eyes.

Mother stroked his cheek. The one that Grandfather had struck. “Don't worry about that now,” she said, her voice soft. She smiled at him. “I'll tell the stable boy to sneak you to the fair tomorrow evening, when your Grandfather is at his meetings. He'll never know.”

Damian grinned back. “And I can skip training?”

She only laughed and kissed his forehead. “Don’t push it. Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

The next day, the fair in the village had been set on fire. He and Mother watched from the high windows of the compound's main hall. An example had been made. Mother's hand was gripping his shoulder very tight. He looked up at her.

He had thought then, for some strange reason, that Mother would say something. Tell Grandfather that he had gone too far. That it wasn't just. He was only a boy. He should have been allowed to have his fun.

All Mother did was stare at the flames. There was something in her eyes, some inscrutable thing that Damian could not recognize.

“From today,” she said finally, her voice as hard as iron, “you are never going to raise your voice against your Grandfather. Or any superior. Your pleasure is secondary. All that matters are the orders you have been given. Is that clear?”

Damian had nodded, mutely. He remembered, after that. He would keep head down. It didn't matter what he wanted. He was a soldier first. A son second.  

It was only later that he realised that the strange thing in his Mother's eyes had been fear.  

*

He was lying on the floor of the garage, his breath coming in fast little gasps. There was a shooting pain in his wrist. When he looked down at it, he saw that it was at an odd angle. It hurt so badly it was making his eyes wet. He wiped at them, embarrassed.  

The bicycle, he thought suddenly, and for a second he stopped breathing altogether. It was as though time had stopped. Father was going to kill him.  

He sat up a little, clutching his wrist, looking for where the bicycle had skidded to, when he'd fallen. When he saw it, he let out a helpless exhale.  

The bicycle was all crushed up, the metal bent, the sky blue paint chipped off in several places. But that wasn't the worst of it. It had skidded into one of Father's cars. The red Ferrari.  

Damian looked at the massive dent on the side of the car, his eyes wide. He was going to die. He was going to die. He wasn't supposed to be here at all. He was supposed to be practicing Judo drills in the cave, and doing his French homework when that was done, and now Father would– he would–

He squeezed his eyes shut, and lay back on the floor. He inhaled shakily, trying to beat back the swell of sharp, hot panic that was rising in his chest.

All he could remember was what Grandfather had done every time he'd tried to sneak out of the compound, or the way the men would watch silently as Damian was pushed into the pits, as a child.  

“He's too little,” one of them had said, once, “I can't fight him.”

He could remember the silence there had been in the room, after he had said that. Everyone had looked at his Grandfather. Even the man. His face had been pale.

Damian started to cry. He couldn't help it. His wrist hurt and his chest felt tight and he had ruined both the bicycle and Father's car and he couldn't breathe and–

“Damian?” he heard. It was Father. He had come into the garage. There were soft footsteps coming his way.

Damian whimpered, turning away so that Father couldn't see his wrist. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know.  

“Damian?” Father said again. The footsteps stopped. Father was seeing the damage now. He was seeing the car and the bike and Damian lying on his side and he was going to so so angry. He heard the footsteps again. Father had broken into a run. He turned his face onto the cool cement on the floor of the garage, screwing his eyes shut. No, he thought. No no no no.

When Father touched him, he flinched so hard that Father reared back.  

“I'm sorry,” he was crying, his shoulders shaking. He was a coward, was what he was. He ought to have been facing his Father with dignity, ought to have looked him square in the eye and apologised. Grandfather had always said that crying was for the weak.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, sobbing. Father was only staring at him, his eyes wide, “I didn't– I didn't mean to. I'll fix it, Father I can fix it, just please don't–” he was babbling, and he knew it. Saying anything that would keep Father from hitting him.

“Damian, I'm going to–” Father said, reaching over to touch him, and he flinched again, shaking his head. He tried to stand up, face his father like a man, but he overbalanced and landed on his wrist and he started to gasp again. It was like he couldn't breathe. He was still crying,of course– like– like some kind of insane, hysterical child. It was like he had lost all control of his body.  

Father moved closer to him, crouching before Damian, not touching him until he had quieted down. “What happened?” he said, his voice very quiet. Like he was calming a horse.  

Damian's shoulders shook. “I don't know,” he sobbed. “I don't know.”

He was still cradling his wrist. When Father saw, he made a quiet sound, cupping it gently in his hands. Damian watched him, warily. It was strange. Father didn't seem angry. He looked… worried.  

“That's broken,” Father said, his voice still doing that quiet thing, “we need to get you inside so I can set it. I'm going to pick you up, okay?”

Damian started to breathe faster again. “I– I don't–”

“Okay,” Father said quickly, “I'm not picking you up. Can you walk?”

Damian was trembling all over. Just shaking. It wasn't like it was cold.  “I just–” he stopped, swallowing. His mouth was bone dry. “Can we just sit here, for a while,” he whispered, his voice small.  

Father studied him. “Alright,” was all he said.

They sat there, by the wreck of the bike. Damian kept his eyes trained on the floor. He could feel Father staring at him.  His wrist hurt so much.  

“You're not– angry?” Damian said, finally. He was still looking at the floor.  

“What for?” Father said.

Damian sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his good hand. “You didn't see it?” he whispered. “The car? It's right here.”

Father took a handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping at Damian's face, his touch feather-light. “I saw it,” he said, “I'm not angry, Damian.”

Damian stared up at Father. “Why not?”

Father stood up, helping Damian up. His hand was warm on Damian's back.

“The car is replaceable,” he said, his voice low, “you are not.”

*

Inside the manor, Damian watched Father as he set his wrist. He was sitting on one of the high graphite counters in the kitchen, and even then, Father was taller than him.

“This next part is going to hurt,” Father said, “I'm going to have to wrap it up very tightly.”

“Oh,” Damian said. He felt drained. First the fall, then the crying, and now that he was in the aftermath of it all, the shame had started to set in. He had completely lost it, and right in front of Father too. He had behaved like a stupid, emotional baby, not at all like the warrior he had been trained to be, and now Father was disappointed in him.

He hadn't yelled, not yet, but he could tell that something was wrong. Father was being very quiet. Even quieter than he usually was.

Father started wrapping bandages around the splint, his hands working deftly. Damian inhaled a little sharply when the splint dug into his flesh, once or twice. He was not going to cry out. He wasn't. He had already done enough damage.  

Father glanced up at him, briefly. “You know,” he said, “when I was about your age, I would hurt myself while playing all the time. Alfred would sit me down on this very same counter, and he'd give me a spoonful of sugar to put in my mouth while he was dressing my cuts and scrapes, to make me feel better.”

Damian just looked at Father. He couldn't understand what he was trying to say.  

“Behind you,” Father said, still wrapping bandages, “third rack.”

Damian looked. There was a little jar of sugar on the rack. The one Alfred used to sweeten their tea.  Damian looked at Father.  

“Go on,” Father said.

Damian unscrewed the jar slowly, and put a spoonful into his mouth.  

“Better?” Father asked.  

The inside of his mouth felt oversweet, and he still felt the last dregs of panic and shame in his chest. But Father's mouth had curled up just a little while watching him eat the sugar, and his hands were still cupping Damian's wrist, even though it had already been set, and he still didn't look like he was angry, not at all, not even a little bit.

“Yes,” Damian whispered. He meant it.  

“Good,” Father said.

After that Father started cleaning the rest of his cuts and scrapes. Damian hadn't even noticed, but he'd skinned his knee badly. He'd tracked blood all the way to the kitchen. He watched now, as Father crouched down and painted the cut with iodine.

He cleared his throat. Now was the time. “Father,” he said, hesitating briefly, “I…apologise. I– I shouldn't have been in the garage at all. I was supposed to be doing my drills. I just saw the bicycle and–” he bowed his head, trying not to fidget. A good warrior must have perfect form, Mother had always said. Perfect in mind, and in body.

Grandfather had always said that as well.

“It will not happen again,” Damian said, “You have my word.”

Father offered no comment for some time. He was still cleaning up Damian's cuts. He carefully put a bandaid on top of his skinned knee, his brow furrowed intently.  

“Damian,” Father said finally, his eyes still on his knee, “do you not know how to ride a bicycle?”

Damian shook his head. “I never was– it didn't seem important. Learning to ride a bicycle was inessential to my training.” Damian said. A pause. He fidgeted a little, before he remembered what Mother used to say and stopped himself.  

“Also,” he said, his voice quiet, “no one ever taught me.”

Father looked up at him. He was still crouching down, his head level with Damian's knee. He tried to think of Grandfather, or even Mother dressing his cuts like this. He couldn't imagine it.  In the compound, it was always the servants who bandaged his wounds.

But then Father often did servant work. He made his own bed, and would make tea for Pennyworth in the mornings. He went grocery shopping occasionally. Once he had taken Damian. It had been strange. But not… unpleasant. Father had bought him a pack of marshmallow flavoured chewing gum for a dollar, and they had split it on the way back home. It had not been unpleasant in the slightest.  

Father was still looking. “I see,” he said, after a bit. “Well, rest up. Once your wrist is better, we'll see about buying a new bike.”

“What?”

Father stood up again. “A bike. Don't you want to learn how to ride one?”

Damian swallowed, trying to speak through the lump in his throat, “Why are you– why are you doing this?”

Father tilted his head. “Because you don't know how to ride a bike yet, and you're already eleven. I'm your dad. It's my job to teach you.”

Damian blinked. “That's not what I meant,” he said, “I meant– why aren't you angry? I ruined your car. I lost control of my emotions. I– I cried like a baby.”

Father looked thoughtful. Then he leant on the counter, next to Damian. They were close enough that their shoulders were touching.  

“When I was your age,” Father said, “not a day went by when I didn't lose control of my emotions. My parents had died very recently and I hadn't… I'm afraid I hadn't taken it very well. I was… a difficult child, Damian. I can't say I made things very easy for Alfred.”

Damian stared. It was hard to imagine Father being anything other than calm and in control.

“I can't speak for Alfred,” Father was saying, “but I know that if I had been in his position, it would have been infinitely more terrifying to raise a child that buried everything he felt deep inside him, rather than one that happened to let himself feel things.”

When Damian was silent, Father only smiled. “It's alright,” he said, “All you need to worry about right now, is if you want me to teach you how to ride a bike or not.”

“I– yes,” he managed. “Yes, I do.” Then he looked away. This was some strange and fantastical world that he had dreamt up. He was sure of it.

“Alright, we'll start as soon as your wrist is better.”

Damian nodded, mutely.  

There was a hand on his chin, all of a sudden, tipping it up. Damian looked up. Father's eyes were warm. “There's another thing Alfred always did, when I got hurt,” he said.  

“What?” Damian asked.  

Father pulled him close, until his head was resting on his chest. He was cradling the back of Damian's head with his hand. He was hugging him, Damian realised. This was a hug. There they were, sitting on a granite counter in the kitchen, Damian with a broken wrist and a mouthful of sugar, and Father, with his iodine stained fingers. They were hugging.

Damian wrapped his good hand around his father's neck. Tight.

I love you, he wanted to say. I love you I love you I love you. So much more than I ever loved Grandfather.

“Let's start tomorrow,” he mumbled into Father's shirt collar, instead.  

Father laughed softly. “Maybe in a few weeks. If you don't rest, you won't heal.”

*

They walked down the mile long driveway slowly, Damian pushing the bicycle with him as they went along.

It was new, and it was bright green. It had a basket and a bell and gears and a little cup holder.  

Damian loved it.

“You're going to hold on, right?” Damian asked, flexing his wrist. They'd only just got the cast removed yesterday. Six weeks of waiting. Of staring at the new bicycle ever since the day Father had gone to the store with him, and they had picked it out together.

“Yes,” Father said. “Come on, get on the seat.”

Damian hesitated, and then climbed on. He was not a coward. Grandfather had always said– Damian pushed the thought away. It didn't matter, what Grandfather had always said.  

Father was holding one of the handles with him. He looked patient. Like he had all the time in the world.

“We could go tomorrow,” Damian had said yesterday, in the Batcave, “after I get the cast removed.”

Father was looking at something on the main monitors, his cowl pushed back. He looked exhausted. He'd been off-world for a week, and he'd only just come home. He was going through reports to help Drake with some case.  

Father was scrubbing at his face. “I have meetings all day tomorrow,” he'd said, “and you have history lessons with Mr. Alvarez. Maybe Thursday, Damian.”

“Oh,” Damian had said. “Alright, Father.” and then he'd gone back upstairs to finish working on his Biology assignment. Around dinnertime, instead of Alfred calling him downstairs, Father had come to his room, and sat on the bed. He'd watched Damian drawing anatomical diagrams for a minute.  

“You're good at that,” he'd said.  

Damian had blushed, setting down his pencil.

“Maybe we can skip our prior engagements just this once,” he'd said, and laughed when Damian had jumped on him, wrapping his arms around him.

Now, Damian exhaled. “Don't let go,” he said, one more time, as he began to pedal.

The wheels began to spin as the bike went faster and faster, and soon Father had to jog in order to keep up with him.

Damian could feel himself grinning. Father was grinning too. A proper, real smile, with teeth and all.

“I'm doing it,” he said. He was laughing. He hadn't even realised it.

And then he was riding. Truly riding the bike. His heart soared as he rode down the driveway, watching the trees on either side blur into a band of greens and golds. The wind swept at his face and his hands and his magnificent green bike cut throughout the air like a well oiled, beautiful ship. He rang the bell, laughing at how good it felt, how excellent he was soon going to be at this, how he was going to go everywhere on his bike, and he turned to tell Father, but Father wasn't by his side anymore.

He stopped a little clumsily, pressing the brakes. Father was standing at the far end of the driveway, a small figure, next to the large presence of the Manor. He had let go, and Damian hadn't even noticed.  

“I did it!” Damian yelled over to him. Even though they were far apart, he could see the smile on Father's face.  

He grinned, getting on his bike once again, and rode back towards him.

[jellyfishpoptart]

➴➵Pacta Sunt Servanda➴➵

Summary: A plucky pilot finds herself in over her head 

Word count:

Pairing: Mandalorian x Ex-Mandalorian OC (Mando isn’t in this chapter just yet)

Warnings: Minor gore? Me fumbling through pilot jargon.

Word Count: 3,481

A/N: This my first time sharing I hope you guys enjoy! Please if you have any feedback please drop a message anon or not! I should have part two up tomorrow!

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴

                                                   Five years ago

The hangar bay was louder than it had ever been, It was almost electrifying for Kinsei as she knelt in front of her X-Wing adjusting the Atmospheric thrusters that helped make her ship faster than most. Her quick thinking skills and her great piloting made her a favorite amongst the Generals who left her in charge of her own squadron in the war as Commander Kinsei Tsokara. They were given their next mission by Admiral Kandula Mynt to take over enemy territory in the Outer Rim Territories.

 It bordered wild space anything could happen out there Kinsei felt anxious to get into her ship but she couldn’t let her men see it. She shut the panel where the newly aligned Atmospheric Thrusters were then found a rag to clean the dark grease on her hands. She pulled her black leather jacket over her orange jumpsuit. It was her lucky jacket passed down from her father Endric. There was a faded blue Alliance Starbird on the front left pocket. He had worn it through all of his smuggling runs throughout the galaxies it was special to her.

“Gold Leader! I’ve been looking for you!” Shouted Rohan Port he was one of the pilots under her command, she looked up with a small smile as he drew closer. While she never admitted it aloud she considered him to be her second. He held something behind his back it sparked her interest but not enough to ask him about it. 

She turned to the Astromech droid that was nestled before the cockpit, “R4 run one last diagnostic check for me.” The droid chirped in response as the first group of X-wing from the Red Squadron left the hangar. Her fingers made quick work braiding her long black hair. She tucked the braided ponytail in her jacket so it wouldn’t bother her during the mission.

Rohan put one hand on her shoulder as he revealed the surprise. It was her white piloting helmet that had been polished beyond recognition. The pair of gold Alliance Starbirds on the front almost sparkled from the amount of detailing he had put in. “I was hoping after today’s run you could show me a few tricks. I wanna be able to pilot like  you do someday. ” He smiled wide he was younger than she, he was still full of so much hope and wonder she missed that feeling. The war against the Imperials was sucking the life out of her. 

The war seemed to continue dragging with no end in sight. She had been fighting alongside her father long before she could ever fly. It had all started with a very young Kinsei helping Endric and his husband Rham hide the blasters in the ship to smuggle them back to the rebels. She ran off at nineteen after losing her mother Ca'tra to the beginnings of the war. 

Following in the footsteps of Endric, Ca'tra, and Rham as she became a member of the Resistance, working her way up from a mechanic first then a pilot. Now at twenty-three she was the first female Commander X-wing pilot, the journey was difficult it left her withered on the inside but she kept fighting.

“Brown nosing your boss is no way to get a head, Port. But I’ll think about it.” She smiled back accepting the helmet while playfully punching his arm. “We’re heading out soon let the others know which coordinates we’re going to.” She added as she put on the helmet then she climbed into the cockpit listening for R4’s final diagnostic test. She wasn’t surprised when everything came back to normal. She was a thorough mechanic everything always had to be perfect each and every time. She climbed into the cockpit the glass above closed her in she strapped in while looking over the array of blinking controls before her. 

She shut her eyes while holding on to the ring on her necklace it was made of weathered Beskar, a sign it had been passed down within Ca'tra’s family for many years. She remembered her mother telling her it was passed down from her grandmother who had died as a fierce warrior.  

“I need you to look out for me today.” She whispered in soft Mando'a her native tongue Ca'tra was a Mandalorian warrior just like Kinsei’s fathers, she had told Kinsei stories of their ancestors who were strong brave and how important it was to keep their culture alive after the great purge. 

She was being  raised to be a Mandalorian warrior however she never finished her training due to the war. It meant she was a great shame to her people, a coward by most definitions it was a bitter existence to swallow. She had lost her way long ago when she removed her helmet for her own safety. After the great purge most Mandalorians went into hiding and for her that meant hiding in plain sight.

Her eyes opened as R4 steadied the ship toward open space she put her helmet on, “This is Gold Leader heading out. Let’s blow those TIEs out of the sky boys!” She said as she leaned the controls forward accelerating into open space. Her stomach always dropped once she was amongst the stars, it was home for her she spent a good portion of her life in space and yet she still found herself in awe being surrounded by stars. From behind six other ships followed her lead in a V formation. 

It didn’t take long for the TIE fighters to present themselves only twenty minutes had passed on their way to the rendezvous point, she heard them before she saw them swarming on either side of them. “Watch each other’s backs I have a bad feeling about this!” She exclaimed as she began firing her lasers while dodging returning fire the communications line was full of expletives as her men fought off the TIE fighters. With a fiery explosion she took down one then another, she spun the ship around to provide backup for the remaining of her men. 

She dodged incoming photon lasers while spinning the ship launching her own series of laser blasts back, Kinsei steadied herself as another TIE exploded its pieces landing in the asteroid belt beneath them. A counted six more approaching after the rest of the Gold squadron defeated the first wave. She was confident her team could do this all day. It’s what she loved about them since her first few months leading them she hadn’t lost a single person from enemy fire. 

“Commander behind you!” Yelled Rohan though the communications interface he shot his lasers a few times trying to hit the TIE fighter behind her. The TIE fighter pilot dodged them while returning fire. It was all too fast Kinsei jerked forward feeling her left engines had been taken out. The screen before her began to flash red indicating a multi system failure. Her chest felt tight as she tried to think of a way out of this she was spinning out making her way into the asteroid belt. “Take care of each other, you hear me! Rohan Port it’s up to you to finish our mission!” She yelled as she dodged an asteroid the last thing any pilot wanted was to die in open space. To feel the freezing vacuum of space while the air gets ripped from your lungs it was worse than just dying.

She switched off communications not wanting anyone to hear her struggle her way through the asteroid belt. It was a dangerous only suicidal pilots would willingly enter one. “R4 disengage find your way back to the ship you’re too valuable for me to lose out here!” She pressed her hand to the glass on the other side R4 let out a series of sad beeps as he engaged his rocket thrusters flying back the way they had come. He held all of her battle formations and secrets of the rebellion she died out here there would be no one to defend the astromech droid. It was finally hitting her that she was going to die alone with her body smashed on as asteroid. 

She wiped her eyes with gloved hands as she continued to spin out she pulled on the controls steering her way through. She narrowly missed a large boulder. It cracked the glass she could feel the cold hiss of space sucking out the oxygen from the cockpit. The emergency alarm continued droning on, and she found it hard to ignore between that and the flashing lights were getting hard to ignore.

“Kriff, it’s always something.” She muttered while fumbling for her life support mask still keeping one hand on the controls. She didn’t want to die not alone, not like this more than anything Kinsei was a stubborn she wasn’t going to sit back and let death take her. She raced through the asteroid belt she spotted a green planet she knew all she had to do was get close enough and she’d be pulled into the planet’s gravitational pull. 

Kinsei killed her engines her stomach flipped as she was caught in the lull of space. It felt suffocating for her to be coasting like this knowing at any moment an enemy could kill her. Above she spotted the asteroid belt was full of debris of ships who hadn’t made it. To keep herself calm she stared at the planet as the gravitational pull sucked her in she let out a sharp gasp as she fell through the atmosphere the sides of the ship catching flame she was going too fast. The sounds of the X-Wing trembling against the pressure there were parts of the ship that had become loose she watched as screws and bolts became loose. 

She took deep and even breaths even as her tears fell, she felt her ears pop under the pressure. The glass shattered above her raining all around her she was screaming as she continued falling at an alarming speed. Kinsei felt as if her lungs would burst if she was falling any faster. A splash of green came into her field of vision, she was on the planet all she had to do was somehow stop. Upon switching the controls she realized the ship was dead. It took on too much damage feeling defeated, she pounded her fists into the control panel letting out a frustrated noise as she did so. At least if she died going this fast she wouldn’t suffer.

Her thoughts were suddenly taken over by reminders of her past, the smell of her mother’s perfume, the sound of her fathers’ joined laughter, and lastly the place where she felt most at home the Rebel base on where she had lived. She imagined herself drinking in the barracks after another victory just like old times.

She threw her arms up instinctively as she felt thin tree branches swatting at her body and helmet, Kinsei couldn’t see the base of the mountain the left side of the ship exploded upon impact the smell of fuel was strong in the air as it stained her skin and flight suit. She felt her body get hot all of a sudden as she felt bones crack and twist her head whipped and crashed against the main controls. The rest of the ship wedged itself between the mountain and the base of an old tree. She lost consciousness not too long after hitting her head against the control panel blood dripped from her nose as her body went limp.

Hours had passed it was near sunrise when she awoke to the sound of ringing in her ears. Kinsei felt the burning in her body. She was certain she had broken her left leg, left arm, and most likely her collarbone. But she was alive even if she was in agony, she screamed for help until her throat felt raw as while she unbuckled herself pulling herself up out of the ruins of what was left of the cockpit. Her teeth grit so tight she thought he might lose a molar or two. Using her good arm she hoisted herself over the edge of the cockpit, it had become wet from a small storm that had passed while she had been unconscious. 

She fell into damp grass onto her left side she thought she’d pass out from the pain shooting up and throughout her body. Kinsei turned her head as she vomited. With great strain she reached for a blaster flare all rebel pilots wore on their hip, she pinned the blaster handle underneath her as leverage while she tried to insert the flare with her good arm. 

The edges of her vision were clouded she found herself fading in and out of consciousness again. All she could feel was pain radiating through her body, it was a hot angry pain that vibrated every time she took a deep breath. She guessed she had broken a rib or a few judging by the tenderness in her chest.

This planet was much quieter than the ones she had been accustomed to there were no ships constantly docking, for a moment she wondered if it was even populated. Her ship burning up in the night sky would have attracted some kind of attention. Kinsei turned her head and she could see her bone had not only broken through the skin but had also broken through the fabric of her flight suit. She heard footsteps through the damp grass she propped herself up on her good elbow she shouted for help as she dropped the blaster flare, “Please help me I’m injured!” She had begun crying again once she saw a pair of women beginning to run towards her. 

The younger one was much taller she guessed around five nine with wild red curls that fell beyond her shoulders her round face was dotted with freckles she dropped to her knees at Kinsei’s side. She had been holding what she recognized as a medical bag, “What are you waiting for Echo? She’s suffering!” Yelled the older woman who she assumed was the young woman’s mother, her hair was longer with a more muted copper color it was tied out of her face. Echo pulled a large syringe from the bag she had been carrying, there was an off white liquid she removed the cap bringing the needle to Kinsei’s arm. 

Kinsei’s eyes went wide as she shoved herself away straining her body, stars danced before her eyes as the viscous pain radiated through her. “No! Ow! Get the kriff away from me!” She stopped the moment she put weight on her fractured ulna Kinsei let a hiss escape her lips as she stopped struggling. She felt the ulna rubbing up against the inside of her leather jacket, it pulsed angrily she dropped her head in defeat with nowhere else to go.

“This is going to make the pain stop, you’re going to be fine. I promise.” Said Echo as she removed Kinsei’s right arm out of the jacket injecting the full liquid into Kinsei’s arm her head fell back feeling a chill run through her body. It flowed through her veins like ice water but it soothed her pain. “Can you tell me your name and your home planet?” She said while flashing a penlight in Kinsei’s eyes through the broken visor of her helmet.

“My name is Kinsei Tsokara and I was born on Mandalore.” She stated while swatting the light away it was making her feel nauseous. Kinsei felt a great peace in her body as she looked around a smile formed on her lips. “What the hell did you give me?” Kinsei asked while she rolled on her good side so that she could force herself to sit up right up against a tree she removed her helmet tossing it in the wreckage of her ship.

“It’s a blend of things but mostly Senoti sap. It should stop the bleeding and if you’re lucky prevent an infection.” Echo cut through the leg of Kinsei’s flight suit inspecting the exposed femur above her knee. With her leg exposed she could see she had broken some bones in her shin as well judging by the swelling. “This doesn’t look so good kid.” Said Echo’s mother whose name she found out was Chaska, she straightened the leg Kinsei felt bone run up against one another it was a terrible grinding feeling. Chaska made a splint to keep her leg straight while Echo carefully slid Kinsei’s broken arm out of the sleeve of her jacket draping it across the young pilot’s lap. Echo inspected her collarbone noticing the left side was raised.

Kinsei’s eyebrows shot up watching the look on Chaska’s face it was concerned while she studied her leg, “What do you mean it doesn’t look good?” Kinsei was certain she knew what Chaska meant but she didn’t want to believe it. She hung her head in deep thought tuning out Chaska’s explanation. She caught the jist of ‘I’ll do everything I can.’ Before Chaska turned walking back the way they came. Echo fashioned another sprint for her arm then fished around in her medical bag for a sling. 

“Try not to worry my mom is really good at what she does.” said Echo while putting Kinsei’s arm in a sling she thanked her as she helped her stand putting all of her weight onto her right side. Kinsei leaned down reaching for her jacket inspecting it for damage. She was surprised to find a small bit of blood on the inside. “Do you have access to Bacta here? I’d heal faster that way. Also where the hell am I?” She asked as Echo leaned close enough for her to feel the medic’s soft exhale against her skin. 

“You crash landed on Shosa, it’s a podunk planet no one cares about that’s why the Separatists left us alone. We don’t have access to Bacta, it’s too expensive. Don’t move you’re gonna hear loud pop.” Echo placed her warm hands on Kinsei’s cheeks her thumbs along the sides of her nose using pressure to reset the curve in Kinsei’s nose. 

A loud crack rang throughout her ears Kinsei took in a sharp breath, “I’m so glad I couldn’t feel that.” She said noticing Chaska doubling back on a speeder with a wide flat board attached to the back. Echo helped Kinsei stand while supporting her from the left side around her middle. 

With speeder backing up close to them Echo helped her on to the board strapping her in around the chest and waist, “We’re gonna take of you don’t worry.” She said while keeping a reassuring hand on her shoulder before removing it and taking a seat behind her mother. Kinsei kept her eyes open as the speeder raced through the pine trees of Shosa, she marvelled at the tall mountains that almost surrounded a small village. 

She could hear the sounds of domesticated sheep bleating as they strayed from the main village over to a cottage over a lake. It was something out of a fable its thatched roof overgrown with thick green ivy that claimed most of the exterior of the home. It was made of smooth blue stones that had been weathered over the years, surrounded by a meadow of wildflowers. Further back she noticed a large barn and a pen that surrounded it. Kinsei could see the sheep feeding, she smiled she had never seen anything like them before. It took her mind off of how mangled her body was and the very real fear of losing her leg.

Chaska unstrapped her from the board helping her stand she dragged her leg trying to keep the weight off. She could feel the pressure of the bone moving as she entered inside she set her coat down on a chair as she took a look around. It was charming there were photos and knickknacks all over it, everything had worn lived in feeling but that’s what made it feel like home. “So I’m guessing you two are the closest thing to a hospital here on Shosa.” Said Kinsei to fill the silence as Chaska led her down a hall to a white room in the middle was a wide metal table she swallowed her eyes went wide as she stared at the varying medical supplies.

“You’re going to be fine Miss. Tsokara don’t worry.” Echo helped Kinsei up onto the table using a pair of scissors to cut through the fabric of her flight suit around her arm . Chaska came up with a mask she put on over Kinsei’s face. She laid down her eyes trained on the ceiling tears of anxiety flowing down her cheeks. Echo inserted the tip into her arm her eyes rolled back into her head as her vision tunneled out.

[captainrogers-ass]

Save Me - Chapter 9

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, multiple MCU characters

Word Count: 4055

Summary: Y/N has finally landed her dream job as a lifeguard on Midgard Beach, but how well will she fit in with the team and how will she cope after grabbing the attention of the blue-eyed Captain?

***Masterlist***

A/N: Ok so I’ll be honest I’m not 100% happy with this chapter but it’s probs the best it’s gonna get. This is the second last chapter and I’m actually getting hell sad that this AU is coming to an end cause it’s been a blast to write. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is always appreciated xxx

You could tell something was wrong as soon as you had woken the next day. Having sent a message to Steve asking to talk you had watched on as he had read the message, began to type a reply, before deleting his words and becoming inactive. Later that day you had tried to call him only to be met with his voicemail.

The weekend had dragged on as your messages to Steve remained unopened. After having given up after several attempts to get in contact with the blonde haired man you tried to busy yourself by running errands; buying groceries, visiting your parents and going for numerous runs.

As Monday had rolled around you had half expected for the Captain to not show up for work, your predictions proven wrong as he had strolled through the door, earphones plugged tightly into his ears with his gaze locked on the floor. Bucky was the first to notice something was off, nudging at Sam before gesturing in the direction of Steve who was silently putting his bag away. The two men shared a look of confusion.

You ripped your gaze away from him as you turned back to the conversation you had been having with Thor and Bruce, trying your hardest to push the pain you were feeling away from your mind. Feeling his gaze on you you fought the urge the look at him.

Throughout the week it became obvious that Steve was avoiding you, always making sure that he was with a group of his colleagues so you couldn’t pry him away, as you tried to so many times in your desperate search for answers regarding his cold treatment towards you. His eyes were always staring anywhere but on you, obviously going out of his way to avoid eye contact. You had even tried talking to him in the carpark after your shift, Steve quickly bringing his bike to life, revving the engine loudly to drown out your calls, before driving off without a word.

As the week had gone by the team had become increasingly aware that something was off with their Captain and that it somehow involved you. No one had outright asked you about it but you could hear the whispers that were said behind you back, quickly hushed whenever you walked into a room.

By Thursday you had given up all hope in finding out what was wrong with Steve, resolving to let him avoid you if that was what he so wished to do.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself; your heart felt as if it had been torn in two. Seeing him act so distant and go to great lengths to avoid being in the same room as you plummeted your self esteem to an all time low. The two of you had become extremely close over your time working together, an extreme contrast to Steve’s current behaviour towards you. You prided yourself on being a bubbly and bright person but now you could barely hold back the tears that were seemingly always threatening to spill over from your eyes.

The kiss you had shared replayed throughout your mind constantly throughout the week, it’s never-ending loop driving you crazy as you analysed every aspect of the night wondering where you went wrong. Shaking your head with force you dispelled those thoughts from your head.

I did nothing wrong, you angrily thought to yourself. It’s him, not me.

Nevertheless the loop restarted in your mind, highlighting just how happy you had been in Steve’s embrace. The unshed tears came back, this time with a vengeance as they violently threatened to spill from your eyes.

“I’ll meet you in the shed, Tony!” You called out to your partner for the day. “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom.”

The tears had started to fall before you had even opened the door.

You let them fall freely down your face as you rushed to a cubicle, closing the door quickly behind you before falling onto the toilet. Your hands came up to cup your face, the tears streaming down your wrists as you cried quietly.

Fuck him, you thought to yourself as you wiped away the tears only for more to flood your cheeks.

Fuck him for kissing me. Fuck him for making me think that he liked me. Fuck him for treating me like I don’t exist. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting on the toilet throwing silent curses into the air before a knock came from the bathroom door. Sitting up you bolted out of the cubicle, your hands frantically coming up to wipe at your tear stained face.

The door opened slightly, Tony’s familiar face poking through.

“Y/N?” He asked, concern written across his features. “Are you okay?”

You plastered the fakest smile across your face, going up to the sink as you washed your hands.

“Oh, Tony. Sorry, did I take too long?” The smile remained glued to your features as your colleague opened the door fully, stepping in before closing the door behind him.

“What’s wrong gorgeous?” He asked softly, having clearly noticed your puffy cheeks and tear stained eyes.

As you heard the gentleness in his voice your facade instantly broke, the tears returning to your face once more. Without another word Tony engulfed you in a fierce hug, leading you over to the change room bench as he sat you down.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, holding you as you sobbed into his shirt. “Is it something to do with Steve?”

You nodded into his shoulder, not trusting your voice enough to speak.

“Is he being a dick?”

You nodded once more, smiling slightly at Tony’s crude words.

The two of you remained like that for quite some time, his hold on you never once faltering as you emptied your emotions onto him. You only pulled away after you had calmed down, wiping away one last stray tear as it rolled down your cheek.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tony asked, his voice remaining soft and gentle.

Before you had time to think your mouth began spewing what had happened, obviously eager to voice the hurt feelings that had been pent up in your body all week. You hadn’t even confided in Natasha or Wanda, having decided to face this pain alone. He sat motionless in front of you, his focus never once leaving you as he listened intently.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying so much,” you continued, having told Tony the whole story of what had happened after the party. “I’ve never cried this much over anyone. I hate crying, it makes me feel so weak.”

“First of all you’re not weak for crying. I’ve noticed how Rogers has been treating you all week and I’m absolutely furious about it. Secondly - and correct me if I’m wrong - but, to me, it sounds like the kiss was spontaneous, like he didn’t plan for it to happen.”

Tony quickly corrected himself as he saw your face fall.

“No-no-no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m saying that it was an in-the-moment event. I know the Cap. He’s the kind of guy that likes to have everything planned. I think that his emotions finally just boiled over and he kissed you without thinking. I bet you money that the reason he’s being such a dick is because he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t plan for the kiss to happen so he definitely hasn’t planned for what comes after.”

“Tony, where are you? Why aren’t you in position?” The Captain’s voice filled the bathroom from the comm attached to Tony’s waist. The dark-haired man whipped it into his hand before replying with a certain viciousness in his tone.

“Back off Cap, I’m dealing with something.”

He turned your face so that you were looking directly into his eyes.

“He’s being a coward Y/N,” he said with a serious tone. “He doesn’t know what to do so he’s avoiding the situation all together. Don’t let his struggles burden you. He’s obviously got stuff he needs to figure out and you dwelling on him will only hurt you more.”

You nodded as you listened to his words, your confidence growing by the second.

“So do you know what we’re gonna do?” Tony stood from his spot, dragging you with him. “We’re going to walk out that door, save some lives and look good doing it.”

You engulfed him in a hug before he wrapped your arm in his, sauntering out the door with confidence in every step.

***

The rest of the day only got better from their. You and Tony were constantly joking around whilst on patrol, the older man blasting out music from his phone as you sang along badly. Wanda and Natasha insisted on taking you for lunch at The Black Panther, having noticed something was off and wanting to help out in any way. Pietro had joined you, lifting your mood higher, clutching your stomach as you laughed uncontrollably when he had started dramatically gossiping about his coworkers, telling you a story about how he had ‘accidentally’ spilled a bottle of whiskey all over an annoying coworker.

Having returned to the tower early you draped yourself across the couch, joining in on the conversation your coworkers were having. Steve was sat directly across from you, listening to his teammates speak but never once joining in. You laughed at one of Thor’s jokes, Steve’s gaze lifting from the floor to stare at your smiling features. The heat from his stare caught your attention immediately but you refrained from looking back at him, trying instead to regain your focus back onto the conversation.

You could tell that each of your coworkers were slowly catching on to the tension that had arisen between you and Steve as they glanced back and forth between the two of you for the rest of the day. Brushing it off you focussed your attention on your job, getting back to work as the sun began its slow descent.

Tony drove the buggy expertly through the sand, weaving in and out of the remaining beach-goers as he made his way back up the ramp and parked just outside the storage shed. The two of you got to work, untying the paddle boards from where they rested in the tray on the back of the cars. You had just plugged the hose into the tap, readying it to wash the sand and salt off of the boards, when a second buggy made its way up the ramp. Natasha and Steve were sitting inside, clearly arguing about something.

You watched on as Natasha brought her hand up to smack the larger man on the back of his head, Steve whipping his head back to say something to her before Tony cleared his throat, catching their attention. As their eyes rested on you they both immediately closed their mouths, Natasha flashing you a wide grin.

You rolled your eyes as you got back to work, the last buggy making its way up the ramp before Bruce and Thor exited, joining the rest of you as you packed up for the day.

***

“Surely someone comes surfing with me,” you whined as you addressed your colleagues, all of them packing their bags at their lockers.

“Sorry gorgeous,” Tony responded, looking over at you apologetically. “Pepper’s cooking dinner tonight and I promised her I’d come home early.”

“I can’t either Y/N,” Natasha added. “I’m babysitting Clint’s kids tonight.”

You listened as each of your colleagues provided you with their excuses, each one looking back at you with an apologetic smile on their faces. Steve was the only one who didn’t respond, packing his bag hastily as he flew out the door without a word.

“Fine, you can all ditch me. Although I’m not convinced by half of your excuses,” you replied jokingly, smiling as you packed the last item into your bag.

After everyone was ready to go the team, minus Steve, left the tower together. You said your goodbyes as you parted ways, the rest of the team heading for the carpark as you headed down the steps towards the storage room where your board was situated.

You basked in the warm heat that washed over you from the setting sun, admiring the golden ocean as you walked. However your attention was soon distracted as you passed by the gym, surprised to see that the roller door was opened. Glancing inside your eyes were met by the tense figure of Steve, his back towards you as he punched violently at the punching bag at the back of the room.

You found that your feet had stopped in their movements as your eyes trailed up and down his figure. The tight shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide the movements of his back muscles, tense and outlined perfectly by the thin fabric. His hands were covered in boxing wraps, used to protect his wrists as he attacked the bag in front of him. He was angry, you could tell, watching on as he violently hailed punch after punch, his chest rising and falling deeply as sweat streamed off of him.

You were brought out of your daze when Steve finally stopped his assault, turning around to grab the towel and water bottle that lay on the bench behind him. His eyes met yours briefly as your legs sprang back into motion, quickly walking away as you made your way to the storage shed.

You could feel his eyes on you as you made your way down the beach, board now in hand. You indulged in your urge to turn around and meet his gaze, finding him leaning against one of the stone pillars that lined the edge of sand, his water bottle brought up to his mouth as he took a swig.

The water was cold as you waded through the liquid, placing your board in the water next to you and mounting it after you had gotten deep enough. Paddling forward you shoved the board under the water as you dove under an oncoming wave. Your eyes surveyed the horizon as you pushed yourself up, your legs straddling either side of the board as you assessed the ocean around you, waiting patiently.

You would be lying if you said your mind wasn’t distracted, the image of Steve’s tense and sweaty form filling your mind. Shaking your head you tried to rid yourself of the image as you turned your board around, paddling forward as a large wave began to form behind you.

Just after you had popped up from your board, your legs finding their place as you crouched down, the image of Steve came back into your head with a vengeance, catching you off guard. Your balance was instantly thrown off resulting in you tumbling from your board, landing in the water beside you.

You didn’t resurface immediately as you glanced around you, basking in the silence that the water provided. It was incredibly serene under the water as you lost track of time, replaying Tony’s words in your head. The burning in your lungs notified you that your lack of oxygen intake was an imminent threat. Reluctantly you pushed yourself upwards, gasping as you resurfaced before mounting your board once more.

Determined to not let Steve ruin any more of your day, you threw the image from your mind, focusing solely on the ocean around you.

***

You only reluctantly emerged from the water after the sun had fully gone down, taking with it the light you needed. The sand clung to your wet form as you made your way back up the beach, washing down your board before replacing it back into its position in the shed. The roller door that led to the gym was now closed, a sigh of relief escaping your lips at the knowledge that you wouldn’t have to see Steve again.

Your relief was soon quashed however as you opened the door to the showers, the sound of water and the sight of steam indicating that Steve hadn’t gone home quite yet as you had hoped. The want to slip out unnoticed was soon crushed as Steve’s eyes found yours as you hesitated by the door. You debated what to do, reluctant to spend your shower next to a man that had considerably hurt you but unwilling to stoop down to his level by ignoring him if you retreated.

I’m better than that, you thought to yourself.

Standing up straighter you made your way into the room, walking over to the shower that was two down from Steve’s, not glancing at him once. Turning the water on you waited for it to heat up, the steam rising from your shower mixing with the steam rising from Steve’s.

His eyes remained on you for the duration of your shower, burning a hole into your back as you turned away from him. You hastily ran your hands over you body, riding yourself of the sand that had embedded itself into your skin, eager to leave his presence as fast as possible. Your hand was just about to shut off the stream of water when a voice filled the room.

“Y/N.”

You closed your eyes as his voice filled your ears, sounding as if he was pleading with you and croaking slightly from lack of use.

Without thinking you whipped your body around and stormed towards him, your hand coming up as you slapped it across his cheek. His eyes went wide as a shocked expression filled his face, his mouth opening as if to speak but no words coming out. You barely noticed as the water from Steve’s shower began to roll over you, too infuriated to care.

“No,” was all you said as you glared up at him, anger slowly rising within you. He stayed silent, allowing you to speak.

“No. You don’t get to pick and choose when you want to acknowledge my existence.” His eyes grew sad as he listened to your words.

“Y/N, I-” he began before you cut him off.

“Shut up.” His mouth immediately closed. “You have absolutely no right to kiss me and then avoid me like the plague. It’s rude, it’s insulting and it’s cowardice. I tried all week to talk to you about it but you ran away like a scared little girl. I get it if you don’t like me, that’s fine. We were both tipsy so I don’t really blame you. I’m an adult, I can handle rejection. But the least you can do is communicate that with me. I’m not a mind reader Steve; I can’t predict your thoughts. I’m over you pretending you can’t hear me or physically running away when I walk into a room. The only reason I’m here is to do my job, so go ahead, ignore me until your hearts content.”

By now you had backed the large man into the wall, his eyes never leaving yours as he listened intently, never once cutting you off. Yours eyes went wide with surprise as one of his hands reached out to grab onto yours, the other coming up to gently cup your face. He was so gentle that you could barely feel his touch, your mind telling you to pull away but your body remaining rooted. Steve’s heart broke slightly as he felt you tense immediately at his touch.

“I fucked up.” His blunt words shocked you slightly. His voice was soft, contrasting vastly with the angered tone you had used to berate him.

“When I kissed you it was like the whole world had disappeared and I had found everything I could ever want. I’ll be honest that it scared me. I didn’t know what to do. If Fury found out I could’ve lost my captaincy. I didn’t know what would happen and you’re right, I was being a coward.”

He took a breath before continuing, “So I ran. I avoided your texts and calls all weekend and I thought I could do it. It was easy to decline calls. What wasn’t easy was seeing you. As soon as I saw you on Monday my plan went out the window and before I knew it I’d scheduled a meeting with Fury.”

You stared at him in shock as he proceeded to tell you the lengths he had gone to to talk to Fury throughout the week; setting up meetings every day, constantly pestering him with emails, leaving constant messages with Fury’s secretary. He even got the head of human resources, Maria Hill, involved in the process, talking back and forth until she relented and confided that, although it was frowned upon and warned against, there were no explicit rules to a Captain dating their employee. After being harassed for several days Fury also came around. He wouldn’t strip Steve of his position as Captain (“For now,” he had emphasised) as long as he could maintain an unbiased rule.

“I don’t really give a damn who you date Cap,” Fury had stated as Steve remained silent in the chair adjacent.

“What I care about is you getting distracted on the job. I’ll allow it for now cause I’m sick of seeing your face in my office, but if I hear that someones died on your watch cause you’re too busy making heart eyes with Y/N I’ll fire the both of you.” His words were stern and severe but Steve could hardly mask the smile that threatened to erupt onto his face.

You listened to him, not daring to say a word, your mind trying to process all he was saying. However, many of your questions still remained unanswered.

“So you do like me?” You asked hesitantly, doubting the man in front of you.

“Yes,” Steve responded resolutely, not hesitating for a second in his response.

“And why were you incapable of communicating all of this?” You still weren’t fully convinced of the mans motives.

“That’s where I fucked up,” he admitted, flicking his eyes to the floor in embarrassment. “I couldn’t ask you out straight away since I had to sort everything with Fury. I was scared that Fury would say no and I didn’t want to get your hopes up if I told you about it. So I tried to avoid the topic but then that somehow turned into ignoring you all together.”

Steve paused slightly before he began talking at a rapid pace.

“But then I realised that I’d hurt you and then everyone was mad at me and I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to fix things and I was scared that I’d fucked everything up and I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know what to say so I told Nat about everything but she just called me a twat and said I was stupid and-”

You ceased his talking as you crashed your lips onto his, catching him off guard. He hesitated for a few seconds before easing his tense muscles, deepening the kiss as you opened your mouth up to him. The water that was still spraying over the two of you dripped from your foreheads and mingled in between your mouths, your hands coming up to run through Steve’s wet hair. He moved his hands down your body, resting them on your waist as he pulled you closer towards him.

After several minutes of your mouths fighting for dominance you pulled away reluctantly, your eyes being drawn to Steve’s lips which were now red and puffy. He smiled down at you, his eyes shining with happiness as his hands remained firmly on your waist.

“You’re not off the hook, Rogers,” you stated sternly, watching as he nodded back in understanding.

“Let me try and make it up to you,” he stated pleadingly. You raised an eyebrow questioningly, motioning for him to continue.

“How about I take you for dinner tomorrow night?”

You paused to think, teasing him as he eagerly waited for your response.

“Alright,” you finally replied, looking up at the man in front of you.

His smile somehow grew bigger causing your heart to flutter.